Only a Dream
by JessicaJ
Summary: Tifa had never felt so alone after Meteor, even with the promise of a new beginning. Things never turn out the way they do in the stories, and Tifa faces the worst and darkest days of her life... until he arrives. [restructure in progress, and final chapter on the go May 2013]
1. A Prologue

_Behold… a rewrite is in progress._

_~*~ A Prologue ~*~_

Midgar; The place where it all began. The smoky skies told of the settling debris after the plate fell, of a ruined city. But one day out of the ashes, a new city would arise. It was a fresh start: Something that Tifa couldn't imagine for herself.

She drew her arms tightly around herself, partly to protect her from the cold and partly because she felt afraid. She had gotten used to the security and the comfort of the group, yet the closer they got to Midgar, the sooner she knew they were all going to go their separate ways.

She didn't want to have to be alone again.

"Are you alright, Tifa?" a deep voice asked quietly from her left shoulder.

"No." She was honest. Vincent would have seen through her lie anyway. He always did.

"But surely you will receive everything you wish for now." One would have hoped so. Yet she chose not to respond, for Tifa knew otherwise. always, she would try and remain ever optimistic for things that she knew were impossible.

Somewhere behind her, Cloud cleared his throat to speak. Tifa didn't turn around to look at him, instead letting her eyes gaze unfocused towards the sky, although she was aware of Vincent's imposing presence somewhere behind her.

Cloud had said some strange things to her in the crater, about Aeris and trying to find her, yet Tifa wasn't optimistic. They had all seen the sword fall, seen her body slowly descend towards the bottom of the lake. And that was where it would remain.

"Um… everyone. Thanks, I guess, for all your help. This journey would have been impossible without you. So now I guess this is goodbye. Now that ShinRa are gone, maybe everyone can enjoy life."

Tifa let her eyes travel over everyone stood around her, not really listening to Cloud's seemingly rehearsed drone. Barrett, Cid, and even Vincent; She would miss them all.

Being with them had allowed her to divert her attention away from her own problems, forget herself, at least for a while. Without them she would have to face them again. Oh god, she didn't want to.

She pressed the heel of her hand into her eyes, and did nothing to suppress her shoulders from shuddering with her sobs. There was a gentle pressure on her shoulder for a moment and then it was gone.

She wondered who would be there, in the end.


	2. A Chance Visit

Chapter 1: A chance visit (Rewrite May 2013)

**Two years later.**

He reached his destination at sun down, travel worn, and pessimistic. He admonished himself, for the journey on the road from Midgar had taken him far longer than it should have, meaning he had no choice but to rest in the town of Kalm. He had already considered crossing the marshes, though the late hour and the darkness that accompanied it made such a journey treacherous.

He would have to rest here for the night.

Trudging the valley path towards the town in the distance, the reality of where he was dawned on him. The rusted welcome sign and his honed sense of direction confirmed that this town was indeed Kalm, though in reality little had changed over the decades; towns that lived in the shadow of Midgar never seemed to evolve.

Kalm was a quiet and peaceful town, such as its namesake. Amber lights were beginning to flicker on in the windows of the houses, though a wolf howled in the woods at his back. He would need to hurry to safety.

His pace slowed as he entered the town, footsteps made heavy by weariness. Several people bustled about the small square. A few shops remained open with owners stood outside, chatting in the setting sunlight. Slate rooftops glittered and the whitewash gleamed. He was attracting a few wary glances from the townsfolk, though he barely noticed it. He was used to such treatment, and never lingered in one place for too long.

The stillness of the town square was disrupted as the front door to the local tavern was opened into the night, releasing a swell of laughter and raised voices, a cacophony of chinking glassware and scraping chairs. It was only then that he remembered.

That must be Tifa Lockheart's bar.

Giving it no further thought he entered the nearest inn, a compact and quiet establishment, by no means the worst, but not commonly chosen by tourists. This would suit him perfectly.

He paid the young clerk at the desk for a room for the night, and followed her silently to the door.

"Here we are- room 13! You're not suspicious are you?" She said with a laugh, indicating to the faintly tarnished silver plaque on the door.

"No. I am not. This will do, thank you." He stepped inside and closed the door promptly. He appraised his surroundings; clean, simple, all the amenities he would need to put him on until morning.

Pulling off his red travelling cloak and tossing it over the back of a worn-wooden chair, he sank down onto the freshly made bed, legs relieved of their burden of carrying him. Now all that was left to do was find a place to eat; the clerk had mentioned, during her introductory and apparently mandatory chatter, that Tifa's tavern across town served good home cooked food.

This he knew already, of course. Nanaki had informed him of her relocation here with Cloud a year or so before, yet he had never made a special trip to visit. In fact there were very few members of Avalanche that were often graced with his presence. Avalanche had been a means of reaching Hojo back then, a way to exact revenge and somehow atone. He did not owe them anything, nor they him. Yet they had literally been to the ends of the world together—even beyond—and that had to count for something.

He sometimes felt a little guilt for not appearing to care about their wellbeing, or for not visiting, especially where Tifa was concerned. She had always made a special effort to not smother him with her concerns, and to keep their interactions meaningful and minimal. He did not find her presence invasive, as he did with certain other members of their party.

He wondered how she was getting along, if she was happy now, with Cloud. The poor girl was deluded, anyone could see.

With a sigh, he acquiesced. He would stop by, for an hour at least, just to see how she was doing. He could afford her that much courtesy.

-0-

Tifa looked up as the bell above the Tavern door tinkled, announcing the entrance of yet another patron. Tonight had turned out busier than usual! She smiled at them warmly, before her expression shifted to surprise. A flash of red had caught her eye in the background, bringing to mind someone she had not had cause to think about for well over a year. Was that..?

It couldn't be—not after this long. Why would he suddenly be here? She hurried to the door and peered out into the quiet square. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Vincent…" she muttered to herself, scanning the street for any sign, perhaps for another flash of his red cloak that had just a few moments before given his presence away.

No. It must have been someone else. Many travellers wore cloaks in these parts. Yet she could have been so sure…

"You alright Tifa?" Alexandra came up behind her, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I saw... I thought I saw someone I knew… that's all." with a heavy sigh, she re-entered the bar, closing the door behind her.

-0-

Tifa stood behind the bar, laughing with one of her customers as she served up drinks. In the small lantern-lit tavern, her hair gleamed copper and chocolate.

He had slipped inside unnoticed moments ago and had established himself in a vacant winged armchair by the dormant fireplace. For a moment, he could observe her privately. His drink order was taken by a barmaid named Alexandra. She returned momentarily with the ordered whisky.

Tifa finished serving her customer, alloweing her eyes to wander over the inhabitants of the bar. His head lowered, he waited for the moment when she would undoubtedly notice him, though as that moment came he was surprised to note there was genuine happiness in her expression.

"Vincent? Is that you?" She had crossed over to his table, her face near-glowing with the full force of her smile. "How long were you planning on sitting here without saying hello to me?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, shifting his drink from one hand to the other. "It is good to see you, Tifa."

"So what brings you to Kalm, Vincent?" Her tone sounded, if he could trust his judgement, hopeful.

"I was heading to Condor, though I encountered some trouble on the road. I needed to stop here for the night."

She nodded, and we chatted idly for a moment, until her barmaid happened to pass by collecting glasses.

"Oh, Alex—Vincent is a friend, visiting Kalm. He doesn't pay for anything, got it?" She called over her shoulder. He shifted a little in his seat again. This was not what he had intended; it might be more difficult to leave here than he had anticipated.

Got it." The red-head nodded curtly, returning to her place behind the bar.

"I have to get back to work, Vincent, but I would love to catch up some more when things wind down." She stared at him earnestly, weakening any resolve he had been trying to build. "Stick around, won't you?"

How could he refuse?

He wiled over an hour sipping at his constantly-replenished glass of whisky and watching her work. Though she bantered with her male patrons with practised ease, he noted that her positive demeanour was not quite so believable—even forced. Smiles seemed strained, her posture suggested exhaustion and even injury, and she looked thin; that legendary Tifa Lockheart figure faded away.

Something was wrong; too many signs that pointed down dark pathways. Signs that he had seen before.

-0-

**Rewrite May 2013**

JJ 3


	3. A Reverie

Chapter 2: A Reverie

When I had departed from Nibelheim with the Rag-tag band known as Avalanche, I had been mildly surprised to learn that Cloud was their leader, a person that I felt did not suit nor deserve the role. Tifa's personality radiated confidence, passion, and kindness; all attributes I found pleasing in her, things which made her out to be the better candidate for leader. Yet Cloud did things by the seam of his pants, and was cocky and arrogant. I found little liking for the man, for many other reasons besides.

Tifa…

What he did to you, then, was nothing short of cruel. We all knew. Tifa was in love with him. But neither of them spoke of it, regardless of what was going on around them. I didn't doubt that if she _really_ wanted to, Tifa could have taken Cloud for her own: instead, she stepped aside and allowed Aeris to take him.

Yet that was just the kind of person she was. So unselfish it was frustrating, and yet she was beautiful enough to ensnare any man she desired. Yes, I had noticed, much to my chagrin.

As I sat by the fire, slowly sipping whisky that was constantly being replenished, the warmth radiating from the flames sent me dipping into my memories. A habit I had long tried to train myself out of. I reflected on an exchange between Tifa and myself, which led to me realise just what kind of person she was.

In the face of my rudeness and the short and clipped manner in which I spoke to her, she still persisted. It is not something that I looked back on with pride; she of all people deserved my respect and my shoulder, should she need one.

The fire had been bigger, and out of doors, burning into the star-dusted skies that stretched above the great Canyon of Cosmo. I read the skies. It was after midnight, at least, if my knowledge of the constellations in this region were anywhere near accurate.

I made my solitary way over to the fire, my neck craned to admire the untainted skyline that Cosmo canyon offered. The rest of the town was empty, the merrily crackling fire being the only sound. A blurred shape against the red glare of the flames told me I would not find solitude tonight.

I came towards her slowly, so my sudden presence did not cause alarm, and stopped only when I had reached a spot a few metres to her left. I sat down and rested an elbow on a drawn up knee, allowing my hair to fall over my face.

I waited for her to speak.

"Couldn't sleep too?"

"…." I chose to stay silent.

"I take that as a yes." She scraped her boots on the dirt. I stole a glance at her through my black hair. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, beautiful long brown hair falling over her shoulders. I admired the way the firelight danced and rippled down each strand, a slow, sultry dance between lava and chocolate. Her unfocused eyes reflected the hues of the burning fire. "You never seem to sleep…"

"You're not sleeping either." I pointed out, keeping my tone level. That was a cue to stop that line of conversation.

I watched her secretly. She seemed paler than usual though her skin was warmed amber by the firelight. Unwillingly, I felt saddened by the sight of her.

The Tifa that was when I had first met her wasn't here now, sat at the fire. She was off someplace else, leaving her shell behind.

"No. I'm not." She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes met my guardedly inquisitive stare resolutely, and she did not waver.

"I… I can't even explain it…" Her voice was cracking, eyes glimmering for a brief moment in the starlight. I felt a weakness I dared not expose, drawing away from her inwardly as though she were poison.

"I did not ask you to explain." I cut in sharply, tilting my head back so I could gaze at the stars too, and in doing so, severing our eye contact.

"I know... I just thought you would understand…" She sounded angry, though she was using her anger to mask her hurt feelings. Better that then make me watch her cry. I wasn't so sure how I would handle that.

"They are your nightmares. I would not wish to-" I paused, avoiding the word 'burden'. That sounded too harsh, even to me. "-to share my nightmares with you. Therefore I don't expect you to do so, either."

I felt her sharp gaze on me soften, and she sat upright again, gazing at me once more. "Oh I didn't mean to…"

"Forget it."

She was smiling absently again, gazing absently into the fire, the flames occasionally spitting, and sending crackling embers into the night air. As if remembering how cold it could be, out in the desert at night, she shivered, drawing her coat tighter around her shoulders.

"You know, Vincent, sometimes I get the impression you don't really want to be here."

"…"I offered no response, willing her to continue.

"Something else seems to be your motive."

"Indeed. You seem to understand me perfectly."

Avalanche wasn't a cause I would usually associate myself with, but it I didn't have the luxury of picking and choosing. And she was correct in assuming that I had other reasons for joining them. I had my own reasons for fighting the same battle. _That_ was why we were together: By necessity only.

"Go to sleep, Tifa. You need it."

I left the fire-side and crossed to the door leading to the ascending stairs, not paying any more attention to her, although I did hear her say;

"Goodnight Vincent."

-0-

In the days that followed, I sensed her attitude had considerably cooled toward me. Perhaps I had offended her. No doubt she thought I was a much better person than I truly was. Foolish girl. Perhaps it was time she realised that the world was a horrible place, and that someone as pure-hearted had no place within it.

We had been travelling over harsh terrain for days, toiling away, hardly speaking to each other, needing to conserve the energy to remain on our feet, and fight if we were faced with monsters. Tensions were running high, making everybody extremely fractious. One night, the sun had just begun to set over the hills when Cloud ordered us to set up camp for the evening.

Unknown to the group, I had sustained an injury in my upper arm that jarred with every step I took. I got through it silently and without a complaint by gritting my teeth and continuing on. Nearby to our camp was a small wooded area. Needing a little privacy and a place to clear my head, I diverted my steps towards it, leaving the others setting up camp in the clearing.

After tramping through the undergrowth for a few minutes I was rewarded by the sight of a bubbling stream. I huffed a breath of relief and sank to my knees at its edge, the water on the stones seeping through the fabric of my pants, but I did not care.

I undid my shirt and shrugged it off my shoulders. The incision ran across my shoulder, to a point a few inches below my neck. I poked it testily. A deep cut, but it was a clean one. Finally satisfied I was in no more danger; I began to wash away the blood that stained my pale skin. Fresh flow began to seep from the wound, staining my hands anew.

Caught up in my current task, I had lost grip on my surroundings. All of a sudden y senses flared, drawing my attention to a place somewhere behind me. I cursed myself silently for my lack of diligence. In my state of irritation, I had neglected to stay aware of any followers, or even worse, more monsters. Already, I had lost some of my control, and had come close to transforming.

But now, I was out on my own in an enclosed space. There was little reason to hold back.

My hand shot to my gun and I aimed it between the trees. I waited for any sounds of approaching life. Something moved in the bush slightly to my right. A figure loomed out of the shadows of the trees. It was Tifa.

I dropped my hand to my side in frustration. I didn't need her worrying about me now. Not to mention feeling a sinking sensation in my stomach; I could have harmed her.

"Vincent, you should have said you were coming here. We were worried." She said softly, kneeling by my side at the stream, apparently oblivious to my state of fury. I watched her wash the mud from her knees and some that had managed to smear her cheeks. She looked up at me then, her face caught between amusement and concern; both emotions were unwelcome.

"Do you need something?" I asked, a little more viciously than I intended, but by then my anger was stirring and there was nothing I could do to quell it. Perhaps I believed I could scare her away. I had totally under estimated her.

"I noticed your wound. If you'll let me do it for you…" She reached out a hand to touch me, fingers delicately curled. I pushed her hand away, heart racing. I'd never let her come this close, never gotten this far with her, and I wasn't about to let my guard down now.

"No Tifa."

"You can't do it yourself, Vincent, I know you're right handed." She pointed out tartly, reaching out her hand again. I closed my eyes and let out a breath through my nose. I didn't like the feeling it was giving me.

"Tifa…" I repeated, my tone dangerous, opening my eyes and staring hard at her with a mixture of urgency and annoyance. I realised my eyes were beginning to change their hues and suddenly I feared for her safety. That was, until her balled fist collided with the side of my face. I spat blood, the bitter taste reminding me all too well of my humanity, the dull ache now residing in my jaw distracting me from my current predicament: Knelt in the mud, half naked, and bleeding from my shoulder as well as my lip.

"I know Vincent! Now just shut up, swallow your pride and stay _still_." She said venomously, tearing a section of cloth from a spare strip of material, rinsing it in the water, then dabbing gently at my wound. I gritted my teeth and allowed her to continue, glad that she had at least managed to save me a painful transformation.

When she had finished and bound cloth tightly around my shoulder, she stood to leave.

"Tifa," I hesitated, watching her stop as she reached the edge of the trees. She offered me a smile that I would like to call her true smile. She wasn't pretending to be anything then, no hiding, no insecurity; just Tifa in her raw state.

"It's alright Vincent." She accepted my unspoken apology and thanks just like that, and I realised her value to our cause all in an instant. She was what was keeping us all together, such as we were.

But she needed someone too, someone to be there for her. And I knew it wouldn't be him. It would never be him.

…Just like it couldn't have been me.

Lucrecia…

-0-

A/N: Tried to make this a little more poignant, as it's supposed to be the event which makes Vincent give Tifa the respect she deserves. On to the next chapter, which is, incidentally, one of my favourite snippets I've ever written.


	4. A Threat

Chapter 3: A Threat

"Vincent?" Her voice snapped me out of my reverie, sat with the empty whiskey glass clasped in pale, limp fingers. I cast my eyes round the bar, suddenly aware that it was empty, devoid even of the barmaid. It was just Tifa and I.

"You seemed lost in thought." She remarked, almost fondly, setting herself on the comfortable armchair adjacent to me, a glass of wine in her hand. She swirled the red liquid around for a while, then took a sip, savouring it before swallowing. "So, did you… um… have any reason for visiting?" She attempted flippancy, though I sensed the desperation in her voice.

The silence I allowed to settle carried away her smile, leaving behind an expression which I imagined frequented her face more often of late; hard lines forming around her mouth, a creased brow, perhaps from too many nights crying into her pillow. I could almost imagine her lip quivering, tears sliding gently down her perfectly oval face.

"Mind if I have another drink?" I asked, indicating to my empty glass, rudely ignoring her previous question. She nodded towards the bottle that stood before me on the table, and poured me a generous measure. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she did so.

I noticed the lighting had been dimmed, and that the music that had been drowned out by the chatter and laughter of the full bar could be heard now, playing softly in the background. It did little to make the silences between my responses more bearable.

"So why Kalm, after so long?" She tried again.

"How long has it been?" I asked. Though I did not try to pretend I wasn't aware how long it _had_ been. I hid my discomfort.

"Two years. I did wonder about you-" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossing her legs this way and that, before finally tucking them underneath her. A more casual position, I noted, that she didn't suit. "—you know; where you had got to after all this time… if life was treating you well."

Her voice faltered, her eyes pleading with mine, begging me to understand something I couldn't possibly know about. I licked my lips, formulating my next comment carefully. Did I really want to go down the road of dependency, where I suddenly become a rock, so unwilling it's a wonder I can even support myself? Or was my guilt so strong, I would bear her burdens for her anyway?

"I asked myself the same question." I admitted, leaning forward slightly, placing the glass on the table before me. It chinked rudely against the wood, making her wince a little.

"Life… hasn't been especially kind to me, Vincent." She whispered, absently watching the light refract from the surface of the red wine, in the glass she clutched loosely in her hand.

"Life is never kind, Tifa…" Instantly regretting how empty my remark sounded, I suppressed the urge to reach out and touch her arm. I had intended some comfort to penetrate my tone, but the damage was done.

Her expression was stripped of pretences, and I saw what she had been trying so hard to hide; Tears slid gently along the contours of her cheeks, coming to rest on her quivering lips. Their colour was beautiful; a whirlwind of amber, whiskey bottles, leaves in autumn and a desert sunset. She drew her arms around herself as though to block out a sudden chill, making herself into a small, fragile ball.

"I know that as well as you do, Vincent…" she bit her lip, before continuing. "After Midgar I… Cloud and I came to Kalm. I had hoped we could start over. But…" her voice failed her for a moment.

She left her seat and crossed to the window to look out over the sleepy, night-time Kalm. The guilt having successfully battered down my walls, I crossed to join her. Stood next to her after two years, I'd forgotten how much shorter than me she was. She usually carried herself with such dignity and pride that a much taller man would quake in her presence. Just not tonight, it seemed.

Unable to find words, I allowed reluctant fingers to rest upon her shoulder, for what little good it would do. Yet she took it as an invitation for an embrace, her damp cheek pressing against my chest as she came to rest within my unwelcoming arms. I couldn't help but think that she was just the right height. I could rest my chin upon her crown, if I wanted to. So slender too, held against me in this way. I maintained a distance between us, gritting my teeth against the contact. Overstepping the boundaries this time could be forgiven. Maybe not forgotten, but certainly…

Just this once.

"I just… I am so lonely here Vincent…" she whispered, fresh tears seeping through the fabric of my shirt.

As though she sensed my hostility, she lifts her head to break away from the embrace. In one excruciating second, everything is ruined as her lips brush my neck. It is accidental, and perhaps it could even have been brushed off. Yet I couldn't suppress the shiver it gave me, the sensation burying beneath my skin like a parasite and crawling all over my body.

We are both surprised by my reaction; her eyes widen a little as she takes in my expression, and the grip I didn't know I had on her arm tightens. We stare at each other, barriers shattered and broken around us, and for one second, everything that ever stood is gone.

Her eyes half lidded, she stands on her tip toes, and before I can realise how wrong it is, before I can acknowledge the consequences of our actions, she kisses me. Her lips are dry, I realise, as they press against mine. I can almost taste the wine on her breath, I _want_ to taste it suddenly, to taste _her_ and devour her whole. I don't move, and the contact ceases briefly. I wonder what that sound is; then I realise I am breathing as though I have just sprinted the length of the continent.

I tell myself it is because of the whisky that I have allowed this situation to spiral down into this.

I turn my face away abruptly, so her destructive lips touch my cheek. It takes her a few seconds to come to her senses.

"Oh… oh god Vincent I'm sorry." She gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth, steeping away too far and too fast so her back hits the wall. She stumbles, clutching the window frame with trembling fingers.

But the harm has been done; she knew I was weak too. She knew that I wouldn't stop her.

"Why did you ask me to stay? Was it for this?" I couldn't contain the anger entering my voice. I had never known anything like this, not or a long time at least. My hands were shaking, and still my chest rose and fell at hyper-speed.

"No, Vincent I'm sorry I-"

"I don't like being played for a fool Tifa. I've made allowances for you in the past. But this… why?"

"Cloud and I have been having problems, Vincent!" She was spiralling, trying to find answers she didn't know. It sounded like excuses to me. I was confused, and hurt. But mostly, I was afraid. Afraid of how one small kiss had made me feel.

I turned away from her, shaking my head slowly, my jaw clenched like a vice. Right then, I didn't care what her reasons were, nor how hurt she might have been too. I only wanted her to feel sorry for what she had done. I wanted to hurt her back, like she didn't realise she'd hurt me.

"You couldn't care less, could you?" Her tears were choking her words, though she stood her ground, her fists slightly clenched. I noted that her shoulders were trembling, betraying her anger. However, my less tolerant side chose to ignore it. I had come here out of a sort of guilt-ridden duty to Tifa, and she repaid me with this; stirring up emotions within me I didn't know had been at rest for so long. I didn't want to remain any longer than I had to.

"There's no reason for me to stay here any longer. Good night Tifa."

In that instant I had decided to leave. I had come in too deep, given away too much in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness. She slipped in front of me, her hand closing over the door handle, back pressed against the wood, still-trembling hands fumbling with the lock.

"I need you here, Vincent." Her voice became urgent.

"Please move out of my way, Tifa." I seethed, glaring at the locked door, contemplating whether to kick it down to escape this uncomfortable situation I had managed to land myself in. "I am the least qualified person you should be asking for help."

She- _we_- shouldn't have done what we did. I imagined that any moment now Cloud would enter the room and sense the tension, his blue eyes wide at the sight of me. He would demand to know what was going on, why I had suddenly appeared after two years and Tifa was stood before me crying. I didn't want to explain that the woman he lived with and shared his bed with had kissed me.

I didn't want to stay here, putting myself in a situation where I didn't belong. It wasn't my place to save her failing relationship. But the other half of my mind was telling me that that was the whole reason I came here in the first place- For her.

"Vincent," she pleaded. "Stop acting so _stubborn_ for one second and listen to me! Cloud has been-"

She cut herself short, turning with a horror-struck expression to face the door that was being unlocked from the other side. I felt my shoulders sag with realisation. It was inevitable now. I had to face him.

I had landed myself in this situation; I would have to get myself out of it. I stepped into position behind the door, where I would not be noticed.

A few seconds later the door swung open and boots thudded on wood.

"Tifa." I heard Cloud's voice, calm and collected, but there was something in his tone that I recognised as the influence of alcohol. He was drunk. Now that I thought about it, I caught the faint scent of whiskey.

Be smart Tifa, especially this time. Like Lucrecia hadn't been. I shook away the notion. Now was not the time for comparisons.

"What are you still doin' up?" He asked, a faint slur evident in his voice. He hadn't yet noticed my presence. I must blend into the shadows with my dark hair and clothing. Good. I might need to step in soon.

"I was…" I felt Tifa's gaze fall on me briefly. She swallowed. "Waiting up for you."

"What's wrong Tif? You look… upset or something?" From where I was, any other person would think he was showing compassion and enfolding her in an embrace. But actually he was staring at the empty whisky glass I had left on the bar. I cursed myself silently, but didn't move.

"Tifa is there someone else here?"

"No. I just haven't finished-" She gave a small yelp of pain as the back of his hand connected with the side of her face, cutting off her comment. This was followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.

"I'm not stupid, now where is he? Don't try and lie to me you stupid cow, the bar closed an hours ago." He bore down on her, his hand raised. He didn't know I was stood behind him. Tifa looked up in horror from her place huddled on the floor with her back up against the bar. Her palms were pressed to the floor, shards of glass cutting into her vulnerable flesh.

My blood boiled in my veins.

I caught his falling wrist in my hand and twisted his arm around and up his back. My sudden intervention seemed to have caught him off balance, I noted with satisfaction. It was not often one could go against a member of Soldier in physical combat, mako poisoning or no, and come out on top.

One jerk of my grip, and his shoulder would dislocate itself.

"Touch her again Strife, and see what happens." I muttered dangerously into his ear. I wanted him to hear just how close I was to losing control. Perhaps then, he wouldn't be as inclined to push me to that point. It would not end well for anyone.

I felt his body aimlessly squirming in my grip. Yanking him around, I managed to persuade him over to the door. I pushed him outside and kicked him over onto the hard floor, unholstering Death Penalty from my side. The gunmetal glinted in the fully risen moon. Cloud's eerie cerulean eyes stared at me blankly from the other side of the barrel. I allowed him to stagger to his feet, never wavering my aim from between his eyes.

"Give me your keys." I spat. He tossed them at my feet. That done, I strode forward and gripped him by the front of his shirt, allowing the barrel of Death Penalty to come to rest at his throat. "Now get the fuck out of here. I don't want to see you bothering Tifa again. Or I swear to god, I _will_ kill you."

I received a rigid nod. One last shove sent him stumbling off into the square, towards the entrance to town. I waited until I couldn't see his retreating figure swaying off into the distance. Then I went inside and locked the door.

-0-


	5. A New Start

Chapter 4: A New Start

Tifa was still leant against the bar, her head resting on her knees, bloody arms wrapped tightly around her legs. I holstered my gun and wordlessly made my way to her side.

"Tifa?" I asked as gently as I could. Her face lifted to look at me. Brushing her hair out of her face with her fingers left a small smear of blood on her left cheek.

"Yes?"

"Where is your first aid kit?" Though my previous anger was forgotten for now, my words sounded far from comforting. I sighed internally, but maintained my gaze into her eyes, trying to be the strong one, for once.

"Under the cash register." She answered softly. Her hazy stare followed me as I walked past her, and then returned with the green box.

Silently, I crouched next to her and gently rolled back the sleeves of her green jumper, taking note of the many lacerations and the sparkling of the still-present glass fragments stuck in her skin. I frowned. I did the best I could to remove them using the medical tweezers, before setting about cleaning and bandaging her wounds. I repeated the process on her other arm. Several deep cuts, newly healed along her wrists did not escape my notice; Ones that were definitely not caused by the glass.

I took a deep breath before gripping her elbows and pulling her upright, aware of her whimpering slightly in pain. Without a word, I led her around the bar and through to the rear property, where she lived with Cloud. Or used to, as it was now.

The room that opened up before me was comfortable, a smouldering fire illuminating the shadows of a sofa and solid wood furniture lining the walls of the living space. There sofa was squashy-looking, and when I led her to it and sat her down, it seemed to swallow her defeated frame.

"Tifa. When did all of this start?" I asked, leaning back slightly on the sofa. I sensed her stiffen.

"Over the last couple of months." She intoned softly, drawing her arms around herself.

"Why?" I urged, suddenly feeling like I should be out there putting a bullet in his head.

"When I'd wake up in the middle of the night he'd be crying. I tried to ignore it but… but… I couldn't help it." she wiped away a few stray tears with a dismissive hand. "I asked him why …at four in the morning, and he told me it was nothing to do with me and to go back to sleep. But I knew it was for her. He can't let go of her. He didn't love me. He has been acting strangely for a while now… not eating, talking in his sleep…A few nights after that night I… asked him again." Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"And he said…" I urged her again.

"He was drunk at the time when he told me…" her sobs were more frequent now.

"Tifa that is no excuse." I told her sternly. Reassured, she continued.

"He said that I wasn't the woman he wanted, and that I would never be. And he wished that it was me, Instead of Aeris, that had… been killed."

My blood ran cold. No–one should ever wish death on someone, swapping one life for another, hoping to chance what was already done. I had spent years of my life regretting what I had seen and what I had allowed to happen, but never would I wish it upon anyone else.

These were my demons, and I would deal with them myself.

Part of me could understand the way Cloud must have felt; so grief-stricken by his loss it was easy to lash out and hurt those around him, so lost and without purpose that nothing else matters anymore.

But it was nothing compared to what she must have felt. Cast aside and forgotten, a pretty thing left to gather dust on the shelf.

Never had I cause to relate myself to anyone, yet here was Tifa, going through something so awfully parallel, I could not deny it. Yet Cloud lived, where Lucrecia remained only a memory.

My heart was thudding painfully in my chest, my fury rushing to the surface, and I felt the urge to run out the front door, hunt the bastard down and empty a magazine or two into his skull. It was all he deserved. My compassion surprised even me, but Tifa was under my protection now. Everything else would have to wait.

"Why didn't you call on us?" of course, I was talking about the Avalanche members, me included. Should she have contacted me, I would have done everything to help her. As hard a person as I was, I would never leave anyone in the same situation as me.

"I was desperate... and I didn't know who to call… who could get me out."

I knew she had tried to get out- More than once- The ugly scars along her wrists told me as much. It made me wonder what other scars she bore under her clothing.

I got to my feet, my bone aching in the lag of all that adrenaline. She would need time, I realised as I approached the window, trying not to listen to her sobbing behind me.

The others in Avalanche might not have seen her true fears until it was too late. She would insist that she was fine, talk about her hopes for Cloud to suddenly change, to love her. And she would be dead, leaving them with a heavy-laden conscience.

_I_ knew what it was like to want to die. From experience, I knew Tifa needed to realise things on her own. Nobody else could make her strong enough to move forward, save for herself.

I halted my tumbling thoughts to listen. Tifa wasn't crying anymore. I turned and almost sighed with relief. She had fallen asleep, her head resting on a large cushion, her legs were tucked up and under her body, arms folded tightly before her. For the first time in a long while she could sleep easily. I was here, just like she had wanted, and I wasn't going to leave until I was sure she was going to be all right.

I removed my cloak and draped in across her, watching as her fingers gripped it loosely.

Sleep well Tifa. I promise I will still be here when you wake up.

-0-

She woke in the night, as she often did, to find that she was sharing the darkness with a stranger. He was sat upright, the sweat on his forehead visibly gleaming in the little moonlight leaking through a gap in the curtains.

Vincent…

Of course. _Now_ she remembered what he was doing here.

Instantly, she slipped her legs out from beneath the heavy fabric which enclosed her, and placed her feet on the carpet. She returned from a short trip to the bathroom, a dampened facecloth in hand. Without a word she perched on the edge of the sofa and raised the cool cloth to his face, tenderly wiping away the cold sweat from his skin. To her surprise he allowed this to occur without objection, almost leaning on her. Their bare arms were touching; Sleep warm skin on cool.

"A bad dream?" It was no more a question than a statement, yet she found herself searching his eyes with her own. His face was stoic as always, yet the wideness of his pupils alluded to fear. Her assertion was more of a reminder that he was only dreaming, that he was safe.

She could distinguish all the minute details of his face, the shadow of his eyelashes cast across his cheeks by the moonlight. So pale… his hair a bold black against ivory, eyes an unmistakable hue verging on ruby. What was it about Vincent that sucked her into a whirlwind a mixture of fear and apprehension, as though he was looking right into her being, as though he knew everything about her? She felt stripped naked in his presence.

It seemed to her that if she dared to gaze into his eyes for too long, it might expose truths best left unspoken, because they hurt even just to acknowledge. In that moment, when her lips had unintentionally, ever so slightly, brushed the soft skin of his neck, she had felt a weakness. For her, it was a little hurt to heal the pain. But to Vincent, her weakness was poison.

"Vincent…" she whispered, his name slipping past her lips easily. His sombre eyes travelled to her face, questioningly. "Thank you, for staying with me. I don't know what I was doing here all this time with Cloud, I…" She looked down at her folded hands, picking at her nails absently.

"You do not have to justify yourself to me. All you have to do now is seize this new chance to start again."

She swallowed, a shiver unravelling her spine, subject to his iron gaze. "I was drunk last night." she admitted, a blush crossing her cheeks. "I am sorry if I offended you in any way." She humbly met his gaze, which was returned with a flash of something Tifa couldn't place. A slight tightening of the brow, a quick downcast glance, before he collected himself.

"Forget it." he accepted her apology with a swift deflection, lowering his eyes once more, allowing Tifa to believe he perhaps felt a little embarrassed thinking back on the mistaken kiss they had shared, not hours ago.

Feeling she had said enough while the air of comfort had lasted, she returned to her sofa, retreating beneath the warmth of Vincent's cloak.

She was afraid that Cloud would return, simply walk in here and kill her- even kill them both. But even more than that, she was afraid of being alone. She didn't want to have to shiver herself to sleep at night, every night, for the rest of her life.

She wanted to feel strong protective arms around her, wanted to hear another's breathing, see another smile and taste another's kiss. Although it was foolish of her to even think so, she still wanted that man to be Cloud. He had been able to give her all of those things, for a while. He was the man she thought she wanted. But even as a young girl she had learned the value of the words 'you can't always get the things you want'.

For a moment, though, she forgot how afraid she was; set her fear aside, the fear of being alone: because she wasn't alone.

"I'm not afraid anymore, Vincent." She mumbled absently, resting her head on pillows that had been propped there for that purpose.

"Why's that?" He responded lazily from his spot on the adjacent couch.

"Because you're here, now." she sounded a little shy, a childish bashfulness that came with sleep. Not long afterwards, she drifted off, breathing steadily and lightly. Probably, he thought, for the first time in a while.

-0-


	6. A Promise

Chapter 5: A Promise

Vincent awoke to the sound of chirping birds outside, although the sun had not quite made its presence known. He rose silently, passing the sleeping figure on the sofa, and crossed to the window.

The town was still sleeping; not a soul traversed the square on this the frigid morning, not a breath of wind ruffled the grass in the square and all the shadows lay still; exactly how Vincent liked it.

The sky to the east was tinted a delicate gold, the surrounding sky still blackened by darkness; though the colour was beginning to bleed out, like mixing paint. A lone cat slinked in-between the shadows of two houses quickly, and then was gone, as though she realised that it was absurd to be stalking the streets at such an hour.

He knew Cloud would be out there somewhere, and it was only a matter of time before he would come back. He was a determined man after all; if he wanted to get to Tifa, he would try his hardest. But now, Vincent thought, he was the force between them, protecting Tifa from the sole thing she lived for.

Things were going to get worse before they got better, he knew, gritting his teeth at the very thought of it. She would curse him, scream at him, try to hurt him, and even hate him. But Vincent was used to this. He had tried to keep Lucrecia away, tried to keep her safe, from making her last fatal mistake, but in the end she had hated him too.

There he was again, making the same comparisons. Perhaps it was unfair to compare the only two women he had allowed to get close to him in his life. Tifa was Tifa, here and now, alive and in another place, yet he couldn't ignore that bitter taste of familiarity.

No. Lucrecia didn't listen to Vincent. Had instead defied him, and had given up her body for 'science' (In more ways than one, Vincent thought with a bitter grimace).

Tifa had succumbed to him, had listened to him, although she didn't really understand his reasons for helping her, for staying behind after all that had transpired. Yet why should she? Who was he to waltz in and try to tell her how to live her life? Should anyone else have done the same thing to him, he wouldn't have listened.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Tifa needed him. His harsh words and his almost cruel way of dealing with things would help her more than both of them knew. She might never be grateful, but at least he would have the satisfaction of seeing her live.

Like Lucrecia had not.

He watched her sleeping for as long as he dared, noting just how care-free she looked; no anguish, no hard lines on that flawless face, and most relieving, no tears. He tore his eyes away, gazing out onto the town once more, arms folded defensively across his chest.

He almost scoffed aloud to think what Cid would say right now, if he could see him; Weakened by the sight of a beautiful woman, the damsel in distress in need of his help. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, inwardly admonishing himself. So damn weak. Damn him, and damn Tifa.

Several hours had passed, with Vincent staring resolutely out of the window, watching the morning envelope the town and slowly bring it to life. His meditative silence went on, unbroken, until a soft murmur aroused him from his reflections.

He silently crossed to her side, levelling his face with hers. He found her sleeping still, though her lips were slightly apart, a trace of a whisper. He touched his fingers lightly to her forehead; she was slightly feverish. He wasn't surprised after all she'd been through. It was enough to make anyone sick.

He got to his feet again, and made to leave, until her voice called out to him.

"Father." Vincent glanced back over his shoulder, a slight frown marring his features; her eyes were closed, though her lashes fluttered ever so slightly. He returned to her, gaze travelling from her face to her slightly clenched fingers resting beside her. Hesitating, he placed his cool fingers between hers, ignoring the sudden lump that rose in his throat. She clasped his fingers in hers gently, a reflex perhaps, turning her face towards their entwined hands as though seeking comfort from its presence. "Daddy."

"No, Tifa." He said somewhat coldly, unable to think of anything to say, to a woman who had lost her father years before. He cursed himself silently, giving her fingers a tentative squeeze in return.

Although he wasn't her father, he was the next best thing right now.

"Vincent..." She whispered, eyes opening slowly, blinking in the harsh morning light. "You've been here all night?"

"Yes. Where else would I have been?" He gazed at her blankly, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second with the arrangement.

"I don't know, I just thought you might... oh." A slight blush rose to her cheeks upon noticing their clasped hands. She pulled away without obvious haste. "Sorry, was I talking in my sleep?"

"Yes you were." He looked momentarily surprised by her question.

"Cloud said I often did it. Used to call out for my Dad." She sighed gently, gazing up at the ceiling, her eyes fresh and clear from sleep.

Sensing that his presence could be considered overbearing, he rose to his feet, crossing to the window and letting the blinds open up to the morning.

Tifa gasped and shielded her eyes from the sun with her bare forearm. It shone pale and smooth in the light.

There was something symbolic and oddly therapeutic about moving through each room of Tifa's lonely house and opening the rooms up to the hazy morning sunshine. He threw open the windows, letting in the sounds of the day, along with a fresh breeze and the scent of the meadow.

That done, he entered her cosy kitchen. Various shelves dotted the walls, encumbered by cookbooks, utensils and pretty objects that he supposed Tifa had been collecting for a while; pretty glass vases, one filled with drooping wild flowers, ornaments, and pictures.

It was the latter that stalled Vincent's wandering eyes. A few were of her mother and father, another of her as a child, then one of Avalanche, assembled in front of the Highwind. Shera had taken the picture when they had landed in Rocket Town, two years ago. He remembered the day vividly. The sun was shining so brightly, yet Tifa's expression did not reflect the good weather. Something had been troubling her ever since they had left Midgar. But Vincent wasn't one to meddle with other people's problems. He had had enough with his own back then.

The walls were dappled with sunlight which drew his attention to a novelty clock that hung there, adorned with chickens. A rather startled chicken was pointing its wing at the ninth hour.

The sound of water in the pipes- Tifa must be running a bath or taking a shower. He supposed that she must be hungry; she looked underweight in comparison to her image from two years ago. Yet he understood how one could easily forget your most basic needs, as the lonely days stretched ahead of you. It mustn't have seemed to matter anymore.

There had been many times when he hadn't bothered about eating, or even sleeping for that matter. He knew he couldn't let Tifa deprive herself of both, for as long as she was in his care though.

He began the process of opening the cupboards in the unfamiliar kitchen to locate the breakfast things. When Tifa returned downstairs, hair damp about her shoulders and feeling invigorated from her bath, it was to find Vincent bent intently over the stove, several pans sizzling away under his watch.

She smiled to herself, watching him for a moment from her place leant in the doorway, admiring how seemingly being unobserved affected his facial expressions. It only took him a few moment to notice her presence eventually, so she entered the kitchen and opened the fridge, pouring out two glasses of orange juice. She set one down for Vincent on the work surface beside him. He murmured a 'thanks', and drank deeply, maintaining his supervision on the cooking.

In next to no time a fully cooked breakfast was placed before her upon her kitchen table, and it was all she could do not to eat it too quickly, because it was delicious. She suddenly became aware of how hungry she was, her appetite returning to her with vengeance. When she had finished, she pushed her plate towards the centre of the table and reclined in her seat, a hand resting idly on her now-full stomach.

"Vincent that was amazing!" She thanked him graciously, and he, now also fully nourished, waved his hand dismissively to her recognition. "I'll make us dinner tonight," she began, a new enthusiasm for food that had evaded her for so long, erupting within her. "I'll make a pie."

Vincent observed the almost instantaneous changes that had occurred within her, in the time since he'd arrived. Her cheeks possessed some colour now, and her general manner seemed optimistic and much more reminiscent of a Tifa that had existed a few years ago. No more Cloud, no more restraints, no more violence. Tifa was a free woman.

"Vincent?" Tifa's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"I said would you like pie or stew?" An amused smile graced her lips. "You can't be thinking about something much more interesting than food?" She gave a laugh that Vincent felt relieved to hear from her, after so long.

"Well actually Tifa, I need to talk to you." He observed a momentary flicker in her smile, reminding him that she hadn't quite fully recovered. It would take longer, for the cracks were still showing through. "It's about Cloud."

"Yes, of course." The smile was gone now.

"You do know he will return someday." He asked.

"Of course I know he will come back. He always does." She gazed into his face with open defiance. "His fierce protective streak will win him over and he'll come back for me. Whether to apologise, or..." She ran a hand agitatedly through her hair, pausing mid-sentence. "I know… I'm being wishful. There's no going back now, after what I've been through. I… I can never forgive him for what he's done. For… for hating me for being me, and not someone else."

Vincent offered no response to her revelations. Her words was enough for him to leave the conversation where it had started. Part of her wanted to think he would come back a changed man, but he was glad to see that the rational part of her knew that he would never be the same man. She wouldn't allow her old feelings to interfere should he ever return, and for that, he felt as though they had achieved a small victory at least.

Tifa began to clear away the dishes, as a way to fill the silence that Vincent had allowed to form.

"I'm sorry Vincent, I didn't mean to get… overwhelmed." she sighed, her arms elbow deep in soapy water, hair pulled tightly over one shoulder. "I'm just finding it difficult to adjust, now that he's gone. I've always relied on him… and I've had to learn the hard way that I have to rely on myself now."

"There's no need to be sorry," Vincent answered, drying each article as she finished washing it. "I merely wished to ask you if you objected to me staying here. To make sure you're safe."

She surveyed him for a moment, drying her hands with a cloth, the water gurgling away down the sink.

"I would have never guessed that you would have come here and… well, done everything that you have done for me. You never cease to surprise me Vincent." Her eyes were lowered, her hands now resting limp at her sides. "I'm… I'm thankful. And yes, I would be happy to have you here. I… I can't imagine what would have happened had you not… intervened…"

"Tifa..."

"But how long do you think that I will be safe for, Vincent? How will you know when it is safe to leave?"

"I will not leave if I believe you are in danger, Tifa."

Now having finished his task of drying the dishes, Vincent felt suddenly uncomfortable, no longer having anything to busy himself with. Instead, he forced himself to look into Tifa's troubled face. She sighed and exited the room, entering into the empty bar at the front of her house, aware of Vincent's quietly following footsteps.

"I'll be opening the bar at 6pm." She stated, her voice sounding rudely loud in the large vacant bar. Vincent noticed that the broken glass from the night before still lay scattered across the wooden floor, the shards glinting in the shafts of sunlight. He could still detect traces of blood gleaming upon the shattered remnants of the whiskey glass.

"We should clear this up." She said quietly, turning away from the scene and staring at Vincent, looking suddenly pale.

"I'll do it." He said, taking her by the arm and leading her to a chair. "You don't have to worry." Sensing he was losing her again, he shook her gently. "Tifa. I'll be here, I promise. I… I won't let him hurt you again."

"You're really angry with him, aren't you?" She gazed into his face, torn between gentle appreciation and panic.

He crouched before her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

The action reminded Tifa of when he'd done the same to a frightened child running from the fires of her hometown. The girl's face had been streaked with soot, and her feet were bare and bleeding. She had fainted shortly afterwards, and Vincent had had to carry her, Tifa and the others watching in amazement at the sudden show of protectiveness from their newest introverted group member. The girl murmured that her parents had perished in the fire. She had no other family. She had died shortly after.

"I am angry, yes. I cannot allow him to go on treating you that way. Others would be so lucky to receive the same devotion such as you have shown to him."

Tifa lowered her head, long hair falling over her face. "You make me sound like a devoted child. I… I thought we could start a life together." She twisted the fabric of her t-shirt in her hands. "I was naive, and foolish, but… he was the nearest thing to family I had."

"Avalanche are your family, Tifa. Barrett and Cid would tear him to pieces if they knew."

As would I, he thought, if only I weren't so worried about what Tifa would think of me afterwards. He had controlled his rage, so as not to show it in Tifa's presence. He didn't want to be stood between Tifa and Cloud's corpse. "You should have told them."

"It's not that simple though, is it?" She laughed bitterly, shoving the stray hair behind her ear with irritation. "I was living with the hope that he would get over it eventually, someday. Why would I want to push him away from me, when I had been trying so hard to get closer?" She gave him a meaningful glance, which he couldn't fully comprehend. "Don't pretend to understand me, Vincent." She averted her face, her jaw set in resoluteness.

"Tifa you were trying to kill yourself. If that isn't trying to get away, I don't know what is." She brought back her arm and slapped him sharply, before giving a shocked hiccough, raising her hand to her mouth, shame emanating from her eyes. It didn't hurt, just enough to sting on contact. Vincent let a slow breath out through his nose.

"I don't _pretend_ to understand. I _do_ understand. Don't be so ignorant as to presume you are the only one to have gotten your heart broken." He got to his feet and retrieved the sweeping brush that stood in the corner, setting about brushing the shards of glass noisily together into a pile with anger-fuelled fervour.

"I'm sorry Vincent, I don't know why I did that..."

"I do. You're ashamed, so the first thing you do is silence the people who try to help you." He kept his back to her, trying to quash his contempt. It didn't work. All he could taste was bitterness, so old and so strong he wondered if any of it could possibly be directed at her. He sighed and straightened up, turning his face towards her slightly. "Just forget it."

She knew he wouldn't have her apologise again, and neither would her pride, so instead she fetched the shovel, and together they removed the broken pieces in silence.

-0-

A/N: a bit of tidying up of the dialogue, adjectives and sentence structure for this chapter. Not too much to do here! Remembered the switch in narrative to 3rd person; trying to get people to see how they interact, rather than just receiving Vincent's perspective.

Night all!


	7. A Decision

Chapter 6: A Decision

She worked diligently, long hair swiftly tied back in a hasty bun as she kept herself busy for most of the afternoon. Opening time was approaching fast, and there were floors to be mopped, glasses to be washed and put away, chairs and tables manoeuvred into place. The windows had been thrown open to alleviate her sudden hot flush, and to allow the room to breathe and release the overwhelming fumes of furniture polish and bleach. A delicate breeze wafted in, plucking at errant strands of hair that had escaped her bun.

Puffing out a breath as she paused to rest, she finally acknowledged the time. The hour hand of the clock as creeping toward four; it was about time to make some lunch.

She re-entered into the main house, bumping into Vincent as he descended from upstairs. She had kitted out the spare room with fresh sheets and had supplied him with towels, the scent of soap and shampoo lingering about his person informing her he had made use of them. He glanced around the room swiftly before looking at her. She became conscious of her hair, slightly erratic through energetic cleaning. Tifa took in his new scent, and his clean clothes, slightly more casual by Vincent's standards; a plain black t-shirt and black pants.

"Do you need help with anything?" He asked, a little awkward all of a sudden. He became aware of the subtle trace of furniture polish still lingering in the air.

"I was going to make stew, I think." She smiled, attempting to ease the discomfort. He nodded in acquiescence, following her into the kitchen.

She was really in her element here, he thought, required only to watch as she tossed all kinds of different things into a bubbling stew pot; vegetables, herbs and stock, and some things which he would never have thought to use. When she presented him with a spoon full of her creation to sample, his senses were pleasantly stimulated by the flavours it encountered.

"It's my Dad's famous winter stew. Do you like it?" She smiled easily, stirring the mixture as she talked. "When I say famous, I mean, I loved it as a kid." she gave a small laugh, shaking her head in reminiscence.

"It's good." He gifted her with a rare, genuine smile. She lowered her gaze, turning her flushed face back to her stew pot.

"Right, it'll take a while to cook, so I'm justgoing to get changed..."

-0-

She excused herself from the kitchen quietly, feeling suddenly flustered, dashing up to her room and snapping the door shut behind her. Pulled off her clothes dirtied by the morning's work, she entered her bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the hot stream of water with closed eyes.

Vincent had arrived in Kalm unwilling and closed, and despite his anger at her selfish actions, he had saved her from her woes in a single heartbeat. He had taken her under a reluctant wing. It may be anything but warm there at times, she noted, but at least she was safe.

It all came back to Lucrecia, of course. Perhaps his staying had something to do with atoning, as he often put it, for his past mistakes. Perhaps part of her predicament had stirred something within his darkest memories, some haunting recollection of a woman he loved suffering because he was not strong enough to stop it.

Vincent had a compassionate side to him, should she ever need to appeal to it. His temper was something she didn't ever want to be subject to though; His fury had been something to behold that night, hands trembling as they helped her to her feet, reluctant as they tried to comfort her. All the while, rage burned in his eyes, never quite forgotten.

There was just something about the way his ruby eyes seared into her, the way his skin was so offset by hair the colour of midnight… and though he may seem cold, and heartless, she knew otherwise.

That smile before, as rare as Cosmo snow, had unsettled feelings within her that she'd been battling with for the past couple of days. A tremor had passed through her body, setting butterflies loose in her stomach and sending blood flowing to her cheeks.

Yes, she found Vincent attractive. Though never had she had so much cause to confront this realisation before. It almost felt like an obtrusion, a betrayal of trust, just to think so… Yet the bathroom door was locked, and Vincent was downstairs, out of sight and earshot.

Smiling as the scalding water brought new life to dead skin, she leant back against the tiles and reached for the soap. Her bones seemed to protrude more these days, hips and ribs sharp beneath her fingers. Her breasts were still full beneath her small palms, though her thighs lacked the muscle and strength they once possessed. One day, she promised herself, she would get it all back.

Then maybe, just maybe… her teeth caught on her bottom lip as she sighed. She would be the woman she had always wanted to be.

After lunch, it was time for Tifa to open up the bar for the evening. Vincent assisted her in righting all of the furniture and ensuring everything was in working order before she unlocked the doors and opened them onto the street. A warm breeze was coming over the meadow, bringing with it the scent of flowers and fresh grass. Tifa stretched in the doorway, leaning on the frame to watch the people out on the square going about their business, calling an occasional greeting to a passing villager.

The barmaid from the night before entered, laughing loudly, at some joke she had shared with Tifa as they greeted one another. Her smile faltered upon noticing Vincent, stood sentinel by the bar.

"Hi..." She said, almost breathlessly. "I didn't know you were staying- Vincent isn't it?" She stretched out her hand in a well-mannered gesture. They shook hands. "I'm Alex- The barmaid." She rolled her eyes.

"Stop talking and get to work Alex," Tifa rolled her eyes before winking at the redhead to show no ill-will, though something else seemed to have caught Alex's attention. Tifa's sleeves were still rolled up slightly- Perhaps she had forgotten to roll them down after they had finished setting up- revealing to Alex her bandaged wrists. Tifa hurriedly tried to hide them, but it was too late. Alex was frowning as she reached forwards, taking Tifa's hands between hers.

"Tifa what the hell happened?" She exclaimed, turning over Tifa's hands, then gazing up through her red curls into Tifa's amber eyes.

"I..." Tifa glanced across Vincent for support. His mouth had tightened, gaze lowering in defeat. She would have to explain herself. Tifa's strength crumpled. Alex moved towards her with a female's practised efficiency, leading her back into her living room. Vincent followed at a distance, lingering in the doorway.

"That scumbag!" She cursed, pulling Tifa into a tight embrace. The girl had obviously had her suspicions. "Why didn't you tell anyone Tif?"

Eventually the whole story came out, and Vincent felt the same mixture of disgust and fury all over again; watching Tifa cry, looking at her broken into pieces right before him once more.

He felt so helpless, so goddamn useless. Just like the last time. No amount of words of comfort, spilled from lips so unfamiliar with the word, could help her. Nothing he could do would change the past, or improve her future. She needed warmth, kindness, and protection, to act as resin to piece her back together. The sad thing was, _he_ wasn't ready to give her such things.

Damn it all.

After a while Alex could no longer ignore the bar, returning to work at Tifa's insistence that she would sit with Vincent until she had calmed down enough to work. Alex had nodded and shut the door, leaving Vincent aware of the painfully large gap between where he was standing, and where she was hunched, her life still broken in her hands.

"Why was I so pathetic Vincent?" She asked of him, as he stood awkwardly before her. "How could I have been so weak?"

"Tifa don't blame yourself." He knelt before her, lifting her face to look at him. "That was my mistake." Tifa gazed at him with open surprise. Vincent never mentioned his past.

"How so?"

"For years, I….blamed Lucrecia's death on myself. But... I did everything I could to try and stop her." His stomach seemed to churn at his words. Did he really believe that? Did he really do everything he could? "And still, she…"

He shook his head slowly. It was foolish to even dwell on it now. "Take the chance that you have been given, and move forward. That is what the Tifa I know would do." Tifa wiped her tears away, the action serving to bring the bandages to her attention.

"I'm not ashamed..." She whispered quietly, though she drew strength from these words. "I'll… I'll be down in a few minutes."

Vincent watched her go upstairs, and set his jaw. If he hadn't done everything he could before, well he wanted to make sure he did this time. Tifa's suffering was certainly not of her own making. She deserved _so_ much more.

When she returned downstairs, she was wearing a short sleeved shirt with the bandages off, revealing a staccato of healing, but still angry-looking wounds across her once smooth white forearms. She smiled gently, saying nothing before re-entering the bar, with Vincent following silently behind.

That was Tifa; Proud, wearing her heart- or in this case her scars- on her sleeves. He watched her all night; how she winced in pain every so often, yet never failing to produce a smile on demand, laugh it off if necessary.

The night passed in a blur with people coming and going, until before he knew it Tifa was locking the doors and Alex was doing one last sweep for glasses about the room.

"Right, I'll just go and cash up." Tifa sighed, taking out the till tray and entering into the house, leaving Alex and Vincent alone in the bar.

"You came here by chance?" Alex wasted no time, folding her arms as she sat cross-legged on a chair across from his. Her foot was jiggling, tell-tale of her agitation. Perhaps she had wanted to grill him all night. "'Cause I'm so glad you did. I never knew, didn't see what that bastard was doing to her." Alex lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke angrily to one side. "Promise me you'll stay with her, Vincent. There's no way she'd manage here in this place on her own, she'd go crazy."

"I know. I'm doing all I can." Vincent sighed, listening out for Tifa's footsteps upstairs; a rapidly developing habit of his. "She's... so fragile." He found himself admitting that realisation out loud. Saying it made it seem so much more frightening.

"She's talked about you before, y'know?" Alex gazed at him through her spiralling smoke. Vincent couldn't help the sense of mild curiosity aroused by this statement, raising his eyebrows slightly. "She said she often wondered where you were. Never knew what you were going to do next, you'd not been in touch for over a year."

"Yes, I believe I saw her on Christmas Eve last year. She was drunk at Cid and Shera's house." He answered, narrowing his eyes. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. He wasn't prepared to be exposed to the anger of someone he didn't know.

"You didn't see it then? Fuck, was she that good an actor? No one called her to check up on her! No one has been here all the time I've worked here- hell all the time she's lived here no-one came!"

"I think you'll find that I was partly responsible for that." Tifa said quietly, entering the bar, her face blank. "_I_ didn't want to let them see how fragile our so-called relationship was. It was much easier to forget; to have to have separate beds because there was a lack of space, to busy myself with Marlene, and evade everyone's questions about how thin I was, to..." Tifa paused, and swallowed. "If they would have known for even a second they would have taken me to the safest pace they knew. Alex, it's my fault, not Vincent's. I owe Vincent... much more than he will ever know." Tifa rested her hand on the bar, gazing down at her fingers.

"I'm sorry Tif, I-" Alex began, but Tifa raised her hand to stop her.

"Don't apologise, Alex." Tifa embraced the girl, rubbing her shoulders fondly. "You've been like a sister to me these two years. And... I've made a decision to close the bar." Vincent and Alex both looked shocked by this revelation.

"What? And where will you go?" Tifa smiled at the girl's selflessness. Never mind that _she_ was losing her job- where was Tifa going, would _she_ be ok? She was glad that for every evil son of a bitch out there in the world, she knew at least eight people who were the most caring friends that she could have ever hoped for.

"I... don't know. But I've realised that in order to move on, I'll need to let go of the past. And living here, with so many memories of Cloud..."

Tifa glanced around the bar, remembering how wrecked the place had been when they had first stumbled across it. They had come here looking for a new place to live, buoyed on love and new dreams, and had fallen head over heels for the old place. She recalled the scent of plaster and of old wood when they had entered, remembered loving every bit of it. Then were the good times, when Cloud was trying, When Tifa was trying, when they had made love there, on the floor of the bar...

She covered her face with her hands. God it was going to be so hard. But she knew that it was the right thing to do. She would call Cid or Barrett in the morning and try to find a place to go, when she finally found the courage to sell the place. But she knew that one person would stay with her and make sure she went through with it.

She couldn't have been happier to have Vincent there with her, for when at that moment when she felt so drained, so full of conflicting emotions to continue the semblance of normalcy and conversation, he bade farewell to Alex, locked the doors, and turned off the lights…

…And took her into his arms, allowed her to lean against him, and cry.

-0-

A/N: Plodding on gradually with this! So much better. Tried to introduce a little bit more sexuality to this, obviously Tifa and Vincent are human after all. One slightly more so than the other, but still…


	8. A Dream

Chapter 7: A Dream

Her surroundings were slightly unfamiliar, yet in spite of this, she had slept better than she had in a long while. She didn't even remember getting there, huddled under the blankets of the guest room. Vincent must have put her to bed, and had some reasoning for avoiding placing her in her own; it seemed he had understood her perfectly that night, and had taken steps to help her, however he could.

He knew she hadn't been sleeping well; heck, he'd known that almost as long as he'd known _her_. She had been staring at the walls for too long, trying to ignore his sleepless form beside her in the dark. Many nights, week in and week out had been spent staring at the ceiling of her own bedroom, a place that should mean rest and comfort, a room where lovers whispered and sighed between the sheets. No such meaningless words were spoken here, and no such explorations occurred either.

There had been sex of course, for they were a couple after all. But after a while it became less of what Tifa had dreamt it to be, to being more like what Tifa dreaded. It was hollow, and meaningless; No kisses, no warm, exhausted embraces- just sex for the sake of sex. It became a pass time, nothing left between them except that expectation of physicality.

Gazing up at the ceiling tonight, she examined the cracks in the paintwork, barely concealed beneath a few carefully applied layers. Had she hidden it that well? Or had she felt the same all along; desolate, dry, and empty, truly lonely for the first time in her life.

There had been her father when she lost her mother; she had found solace in Barrett when she had lost her home, and in Avalanche when she lost her bar. There had always been Cloud, until recently.

Now, there was Vincent.

She found herself questioning why she hadn't called upon her friends when things had reached rock bottom, why she had never thought about just walking out, away from it all. Tifa believed in that whole 'you've made your bed' philosophical bullshit, as Cid might say. Maybe her life with Cloud was all she felt she deserved. So naïve, age had taught her that love was as you made it, yet denial had clouded her judgement.

Because it couldn't be more different now.

She was gradually awakening to the tantalising realisation that much more was possible; an epiphany stemming from one single event, one stupid careless moment when her weakness had overwhelmed her. That stupid kiss! That one brief encounter when she caught him with his walls down, and she'd almost ruined everything.

She couldn't fully comprehend his motives for staying. Vincent was hard enough to figure out as it was. Yet sometimes she was able to read emotions from their subtle play upon his features. Anger, followed by a slow breath, closed eyes- the self-admonishment- as he calmed himself. His facial muscles would relax, his voice carefully controlled to contain neither too much nor too little emotion.

He was making many sacrifices simply by being here, breaking all the rules which he so carefully laid out. She reminded herself to thank him one day, to make him see that his presence and his protection was greatly appreciated. Even more than that, she wanted to be able to show him how strong she was; that she could start again without Cloud, that she could live without him.

And also Without Vincent.

She couldn't imagine how she would manage without him. He had been so important in her self-development since he came that night; silenced her when she was too hysterical, comforted her-in his own way- when she was broken. He even smiled sometimes, if he thought she wasn't looking.

But she always managed to break the comfortable silences, by saying something stupid. Cloud would have gotten angry with her, and she would have cried and broken a few dishes.

With Vincent though, things couldn't have been more different. All those stupid things she had said, hurtful, thoughtless things, had been forgotten. Or at least, apparently so. If he bore a grudge or any ill-will, he hid it well. He would only sigh, leaving her feeling foolish and child-like.

This was one grand mess alright, her becoming so reliant upon the most unwilling person there was. Yet, she argued with herself, hardly daring to hope, he had stayed. He had cooked with her, eaten with her, sat in her living room and read books with her in companionable silence. They had cleaned together, talked, and they'd even laughed together once.

She chuckled bitterly to in the darkness.

Such a fool to think he cares enough to love you. Yet hope was all she had to hold onto now.

Such a fool, Lockheart.

-0-

Vincent had lain awake for hours, not allowing himself to get comfortable in the bed which held Tifa's scent so strongly. He didn't want to associate her with being warm and secure, didn't want to let his guard down. Not again.

As every day went by, he was less able to deny that Tifa was becoming his weakness. A beautiful woman with tears on her face- what kind of man didn't feel like he should be holding her close, devoting himself to her protection? And hadn't he done just that?

God damn him. So weak. He would have to remain on his guard, stay strong, if not for himself, then for the both of them.

…But the sheets were soft and his tired muscles eventually melted away as the mattress accommodated him, and he felt himself slipping away completely into sleep. It came so rarely that he did little to fight it; on the rare occurrences where sleep finally took him, it was riddled with vexing dreams, horrific nightmares, causing him to wake with a severe headache, cold sweat trembling over feverish skin...

...awakening to find Tifa at his side, sleep-warm skin pressing against his, her mouth parted and wanting. They were both naked under the sheets, all tongue and breath and fumbling hands, lips wandering…

Such a fool.

-0-

Tifa's restlessness finally found some relief when she became aware of movement coming from her own room, followed by a strange, strangled cry, sudden intakes of breath, and the crinkle of sheets being moved aside. She realised it was probably Vincent and one of his nightmares. She considered leaving him alone, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. But then again she wasn't ready for sleep, and Vincent was far too much of a gentleman to ask her to leave if she chose to invade his privacy. Perhaps it would work in her favour that he was in her room.

So she slid her legs out of the sheets and placed her feet softly upon the carpet, padding softly out onto the landing. Vincent had left both his and her doors ajar, should he have needed to listen out for her in the night. She smiled softly to herself, and then slid the door open fully.

-0-

Vincent had awakened abruptly, reality only serving to intensify the dream he had bolted awake from. It took a few moments regain control of his rapid breathing, lying motionless in the unfamiliar bed, taking in his surroundings with darting pupils as though trying to validate its permanence. He kicked the sheets off that had entwined around his ankles and got shakily to his feet, crossing to the blackened window.

The intensity of the dream lingered in his mind; the feeling of ecstasy ebbing and waving in his chest, his lips seeming to burn as though from the absence of a kiss, his fingers shaking, as though trying to recover the sensation of skin.

The door to his room opened unexpectedly and Tifa entered the room, the hem of her nightdress fluttering at the level of her thigh, Vincent couldn't help but to notice. "Are you alright Vincent, I heard you moving…?"

"I'm fine, just a dream." he spoke rather severely, pulling his arms tight across his chest and turning away from her. He felt his face flush.

"Are you sure? You don't want to talk or anything?"

He could see her worried reflection in the windowpane as he faced it, her face framed by her long, slightly ruffled hair. It only served as another delicate reminder.

"I'm fine, please just go."

"Alright… But you know where I am Vincent, if you need me."

He shuddered to think that she might just say yes, _should_ he go to her with his current base needs in mind.

Tifa shut the door after her, biting her lip anxiously as she lingered behind it, as if expecting him to call her back. Sighing because she knew he never would, she re-entered her temporary room and slipped back in-between her sheets, lying awake for some time, knowing full well that he was doing the same.

-0-

It took a while for his heart to calm its erratic rhythm; nonetheless Vincent was powerless to shake the tantalising recollections from his mind.

Why now?

He'd never dreamt that way about a woman in a long time, not since Lucrecia. His hot bloodedness had somewhat altered its tangent since awakening in Nibelheim. Any remnants of humanity that remained within him were devoted to simply keeping amicable relations with those around him. Since discovering what horrors slept beneath the surface of his skin, he'd vowed never to let anyone close enough to find out what lurked there. Yet Tifa knew about Chaos, Galian beast; all of them in fact. And she didn't seem to fear him in the slightest.

Releasing a long slow breath that ruffled those annoying strands of hair that never stayed out of his eyes, he threw himself back onto the mattress, lying long and silent in the dark. He stared unblinking at the ceiling for some time, focussing on his breathing, and trying not to think about her…

The thing that dazed him the most was the realism of it, he acknowledged, unable to avoid it regardless of his meditations; he could recall every detail, if he allowed himself to. The taste of her mouth, so full and flushed as he caught her bottom lip in his teeth, the scent of her hair, her skin and the hormones as they lay flush, her body shifting and writhing beneath his own...

Oh, oh god...

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, gritting his teeth and curling his hands into fists. He knew he would not sleep again that night.


	9. A Death

A/N: Playlist suggestion for this chapter. Anything by Birdy, particularly Skinny Love, or I'll Never Forget you.

_-0-_

"_There's no force behind my mouth _

_but in those three words he brings you down."_

Still- Bombay Bicycle Club

Chapter 8: A Death

A few weesks had passed, and tonight, a live band was playing in her bar; some sort of local entertainers it seemed, from the familiarity of the band members with the patrons. Vincent found their composition odd; a cello and a piano made up the instruments, and the singer was a young, elfin-like female. As soon as they began to play though, the lights lowered, tables lit by flickering candles in jam jars—Alex and Vincent's idea- he couldn't deny their chemistry, nor how their music was achingly beautiful.

A few people whistled before the music had started, though Tifa seemed deep in thought as the first notes from the piano struck the room into absolute silence. The gentle thrum of the cello's opening chord stirred something within Vincent that he couldn't explain. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, which only seemed to flutter within his chest cavity instead.

Vincent shot a glance at Tifa, leaning upon the bar top with her elbows. She'd done something different with her hair tonight, tying it out of the way in a twisting knot at the base of her neck. The paly of light upon her skin was quite something, he hated to admit. She was watching the band play with an intensity that conveyed to him her futile attempts at trying not to cry.

She was desperate for protection, friendship, love; some things which Vincent was unable to—or rather refused to- offer her. He swore under his breath.

"Are you alright?" Tifa gave a gentle chuckle, wiping away her tears with the palm of her hand.

"Yes, sorry, it's just... I get a little overwhelmed at times. Sometimes its ok to be, right? Hm. don't listen to me, I'll be fine, really."

That was Tifa. She wouldn't let people worry about her, wouldn't want people to go to any trouble. Perhaps her tears were a sign that she was reflecting, not regretting.

She had finally gotten around to calling Barrett and Cid a few weeks back, at Vincent's insistence that she couldn't avoid them forever. They had arrived before the day was over, and Tifa had told the whole story. Barrett had yelled, more upset than angry that she hadn't thought to call him, hadn't asked for any help. She had shared her plans to sell the bar and move elsewhere, and they had voiced their support, each offering her a place in their home if she should need it.

She had declined politely, insisting she needed to keep the bar running in order to save the money to buy a new place. Vincent had promised to stay with her for a few more weeks; Cid had to work, Barrett had to take care of Marlene. Vincent understood that.

It had been several weeks since the dream, and since he had put extra effort into maintaining a distance between himself and Tifa. He knew she had definitely noticed. She did not speak of it, however, and they continued their steady existence, day, by day, by day.

And they had remained as they were. Tifa hadn't given any sign that she knew about his dream, but Vincent suspected she had gathered the information herself. She was careful what she did around him; always dressing fully before leaving the shower (no more crossing the hallway in a towel any more), and she never tried coming into him at night if she heard him wake. She didn't even try too hard to engage him in conversation as much as she might have done before. He partly missed that though. He missed their banter, and how she used to feel comfortable around him.

But he didn't want that did he? So he said nothing. And so it went on.

-0-

They closed the bar as normal, clearing out the patrons so that they could set about clearing the bar for the morning. Tifa seemed a little withdrawn. She was not responding to conversation from Alex, who gave Vincent a meaningful glance as she moved about the bar. He sighed. He was going to have to say something. Though, not before he'd had time to think through his approach.

He paused in what he was doing- currently turning chairs up and onto the tables so that Tifa could mop the floors with ease the following morning- noticing that she was drawn to the piano. Catching her caught in her own thoughts, he continued what he was doing, so as not to alert her to his attention.

Her curious fingertips gently brushed over the heavy wooden lid, currently shut down over the keys. He'd never noticed the instrument before; it had been covered up prior to this evening, shoved away in a corner of the bar, never used. It seemed as though she was really seeing it for the first time. She tentatively gripped the edges of the lid before slipping her fingers under the lip and lifting it up. The hinges creaked dully, as she set the lid resting against the back with a gentle thump. The music paper still set in the stand crackled a little.

With a gentle clattering from the back tell-tale of Alex still cleaning glasses, and Vincent's footsteps moving back and too across the wooden floorboards, Tifa felt a safety net of comfortable background sound. It had been years since she'd touched the piano like this, as she lowered her body awkwardly onto the piano stool. Her fingers seemed gnarled and stiff, poised over the yellowing ivory of the keys. The smooth coolness beneath the pads of her fingers awakened many a forgotten melody, and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth subconsciously, she began to play; testily at first, as she battled with her mental block, but then she began to remember the songs.

Vincent released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, allowing his hand to rest upon the back of the chair he'd been pretending to move for several moments. It only took a few moments before Alex's curiosity was aroused from the adjoining room. She came into the main bar, wiping her hands dry, brows furrowed.

Tifa's hands were drifting over the keys, fingers flexing and flowing as she shifted into a beautiful, gentle melody. After a moment, it seemed Alex recognised it, a grin replacing her frown. She stepped closer to the piano yet left Tifa her space, taking the chair that Vincent had neglected and seating herself upon it. At the next break in the melody, she took a breath and then started to sing along. Vincent found her vocals pleasing, gentle, carrying the tune with a certain delicacy that ached with fragility and hope.

The rest of the chairs were left forgotten as he watched Tifa's shoulders sink into a more relaxed stance as she fell into her song, her voice rising to join Alex's at the chorus.

His chest ached a little, a small smile upon his lips.

It was a rare, beautiful moment.

-0-

He left Tifa to her own devices in the bar, his mind clouded by strange stirred-up emotions. He needed to take a shower, his body sticky from alcohol and sweaty from moving around furniture. He turned the jets to hot, letting them beat down onto his back until the skin was red and tingling. Once finished, he shut off the water and stood in the steamy dark room, eyes closed.

Soon, she would have the money she needed to move on. She would no longer need him, but the scariest part was that he was beginning to wish that day was not so close.

He swore under his breath.

Damn her.

He dressed, though neglected to button his shirt. Upon exiting into the hallway, he found her seated atop the stairs, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. He wondered if she had been waiting for him to come out. She acknowledged him by standing. He noticed she had been crying again, her eyes rimmed red, her lip trembling slightly as she breathed out.

His throat constricted. Why so beautiful now, when he needed to keep every ounce of his resolve about him?

"I'm sorry Vincent..." She began, drawing her jumper around herself tightly, trapping out a coldness she was no doubt feeling. His coldness.

"Please Tifa... you know I am here for you, if you need me." Better. Less harsh. Her face crumpled.

Oh god.

"I wish you would be Vincent, but I know as well as you do that you can't be." She slumped against the wall, gazing upon him with desperation in her eyes. Outside, the wind was howling, rattling the roof tiles and whistled through the gables. The clouds that had been threatening rain finally burst, beating wave after wave of torrential rain against the window panes.

"What do you mean?" He almost wished he hadn't asked.

"I mean that… ever since that night, you've not looked at me." Vincent's stomach tightened. So she did know. "What exactly have I done?"

"You have done nothing, Tifa; I don't understand what you mean." He decided to bluff, though instantly regretting it when her face contorted, rage bubbling over after what must have been weeks of trying to keep it to herself.

"You do! Just because you dreamt about sleeping with me-" He took her by the arm, perhaps gripping little too tight, squaring up to her as she cowered her into the wall. She let out a small cry of surprise and pain and he swore, letting go immediately.

It was a stupid thing to do; after all she had been through. His anger melted away, guilt biting away at it ravenously. He raised trembling fingertips to touch her face in a gesture that was meant to undo any harm he had done.

"I'm sorry Tifa, I shouldn't have done that."

She sniffed, leaning her head against his chest and curling into his hold. He allowed himself to relax a little at their proximity for once, surprised at how easy it came to him to act in this manner.

"You did dream about me, didn't you?" She wasn't really focusing on anything in particular, her arm resting against Vincent's chest. It was then she realised it was skin, not fabric that she felt beneath her cool fingers. It was warm. She closed her eyes for a moment, slowly trailing her hands up to his shoulders, feeling the sharp bones there, the smooth muscles under his skin. He realised too late what she was doing, took her arms in his hands, trying to move her away, before her destructive touch could do more damage.

Daring to open her eyes, she saw what she never thought she would see; Hard muscles, sharp hip bones, tapering off into a narrow waist, solid arms braced against her hands. His chest rose and fell unsteadily, his eyes screwed shut, resisting her. She felt guilty; she shouldn't be doing this. He had a weakness for her, she knew- But part of her _craved_ to know what his skin felt like beneath her curious hands, what it was like to press her body against his. Her previous tears rested on her cheeks, one trembling on her lip.

"Tifa, stop." He was surprised by her strength, yet didn't try and get away fast enough before she was too close, her breath against his neck too warm, too reminiscent of another woman's breath on his collarbone, but in another time, another room.

He was averting his face, not moving any closer to her. But also, she clung onto the fact that he was not moving farther away. He was tempted. The memory of her kiss still lingered.

Damn her, and damn him for letting it happen. So careful they had been, yet one moment of laxness and it spiralled into a situation beyond their control. He had been aware of the attraction. But he had underestimated how dangerous simple attraction could be.

Damn her, she should know it too.

"You don't have to be this way, Vincent…" she whispered, leaning into him, her lips almost brushing his ear. He was unable to suppress his shiver.

"Tifa please…" he increased his pressure on her arms, warning her not to come too close. He knew he was weakening.

"You have the right to be happy, Vincent. You'll always have my friendship. But if only you'd reach out and take it… it could be more."

Vincent swallowed. In a moment of lacking clarity, he didn't stop her coming closer, didn't prevent her lips moving to claim his before it was too late, and their mouths brushed. Hesitating at first, she then grew braver; when his lips parted slightly, she captured his bottom lip in hers.

His resistance was crumbling away like sand on a breeze, and his self-control was wavering also. He needed to stop this, and stop it now, before…

"Tifa no!" a gentle, but assertive push seemed to snap her out of her trance; she stumbled backwards a little, her hands rising to her heated face, realising what she had done. Vincent stood with his back against the wall of her hallway, his shirt still open, doing nothing to hide his body that her eyes had, not a few moments ago, looked so longingly upon.

"Oh god Vincent… I'm so sorry…" She slid down the wall slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I am _so_ sorry…."

Vincent screwed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly form side to side, dark hair falling about his face. Goddamn it all. Why did she have to overstep the barrier and ruin the security they had created, both maintained for so long? Just when he was starting to think that her neediness was abating, she had to go and succumb to her urges.

But he could only blame himself. He had seen the look in her eyes, a look he had seen before. He could have stopped it sooner.

She had seen too much of his weakness to know that she could break his defences down sooner or later. He didn't want it to ever get that far. He had a lot of respect for Tifa, and wished only for her to regain some self-respect, become independent again. Now he could see that his presence was only making her more vulnerable.

"I'm so sorry for always doing this… spoiling what peace we have created. It's not fair on you Vincent, you've done so much for me…" she wiped away her newly fallen tears stubbornly with the heel of her hand.

"I… can't stay here any longer Tifa." he admitted, turning away from her to stare down the hall, towards nothing in particular. He suddenly became aware of the rain outside, lashing against the roof tiles and the windows. "It's... destroying us both." he heard her sob behind him.

"I know! I'm so fucking weak, Vincent. So ungrateful! After everything you have done for me, I… oh god Vincent. Please forgive me…"

She was crying harder now, her voice thick with tears. Vincent turned to face her. He was going to have to try and repair the damage before he left, in order that the progress they had made should not be undone. He crouched by her side, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I understand your reasons." He admitted after a while. "It's not easy getting through what you did. And I apologise if I ever gave you the impression that a physical relationship between us was possible."

"A relationship?" she hiccoughed, fury bursting into her eyes. "Is that why you think I did this? Jesus Vincent, you really don't understand me do you? You talk like a goddamn robot, like nothing affects you; but I've seen it Vincent, don't try and deny it. It's there when you close your eyes and turn away from me, that little voice in your head that says it might be possible."

"Tifa…"

"I know you think—hell, if I weren't such a fucked up mess you might actually consider reciprocating."

"Tifa!" he yelled, surprising them both. Both of them were standing now, facing each other. She gazed at him in shock, her mouth slightly open, lips trembling slightly, her fists clenched.

His intention was to remove her from a self-destructive mood, and to get back to herself; A Tifa who realised the injustices that she was suffering, and a Tifa who was actually making a stand against them. Vincent's objective all along, but he hadn't bargained that she would use her newfound strength against _him_.

"I do not think that you are a fucked up mess." He controlled his tone. She did not reply. "I came here to help you, not to replace Cloud."

Her jaw was set as she maintained her silence, turning away to stare resolutely out of the window in the hall way, gazing out onto the rain-battered.

"However, it seems I… I have done nothing but make it worse." Vincent sighed, finally fastening the buttons of his shirt. "I will call Cid or Barrett and have them collect you."

"You're really going to leave aren't you?" she looked afraid. He sighed and approached her, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. She shivered, not turning to look at him, instead continuing to gaze outside. "Don't touch me." She whispered, her voice wavering.

He left her there in the darkened hallway, jaw clenched and unable to shake the sensation of uneasiness in spite of his decision. His signature red travelling cloak still hung in the cupboard where it had been housed for the two months he had been here. He threw it over his shoulders, teeth gritting as he tried not to notice the scent of fabric softener that washed over him. Tifa must have… He made a mental note to thank her later.

He fastened the belt around his waist that secured his side arms before entering into the empty darkened bar for the last time, the lightning penetrating the blinds lighting up the room in a staccato of purple flashes. He heaved a sigh, realising he was about to leave her here alone, all because he was angry.

But he had done more than enough for Tifa, and all she ever did was cross the boundaries and do everything possible to make him feel uncomfortable. He did not deserve to endure that. Yet her words haunted his mind.

…_It's there when you close your eyes and turn away from me, that little voice in your head that says it might be possible…._

She knew that he was attracted to her. But she also knew he would never act upon it, that he believed himself to be, and resented being a replacement, an outlet for suppressed passion.

She was appealing to a long dead part of him that was open to love and misadventure, but the ever cautious Vincent that he had become wasn't about to let that notion spring back to life. He had allowed his heart to rule once, and it had ruined his life.

He stepped out into the downpoar, rain so heavy he became instantly soaked to the skin. He could smell the fabric softener once more. He turned on his heel upon reaching the square, casting his gaze back toward the bar. A flash of lightning illuminated the houses, and he could barely make out her lonely figure stood at the window, her palm pressed against the glass.

Her outline was blurred and distorted; yet noticed the shadow behind her. The bar door stood open to the night. Wet footsteps were visible on the wooden floor. His boots had been dry upon leaving…

Vincent's heart stopped beating for one brief moment that seemed to last an eternity.

Lights began to flicker on in the windows of the surrounding houses, the residents clearly alarmed to the sound of two shots being fired into the night. Looking out of their windows, three shapes could be distinguished out in the storm, lying on the pavement. Many residents rushed out of their houses, some having the sense to bring weapons of their own, one man carrying with him a briefcase that Vincent assumed belonged to a doctor.

His gun lay forgotten on the ground by his feet, two bullets missing from the magazine, the scent of gunpowder clinging to his dampened skin. Blood gushed out onto his hands to be washed away by the rain, only to be stained again. He applied as much pressure as his faintness would allow, the figure beneath him motionless and silent.

"Tifa!" a few people had recognised her body, her tangled wet hair surrounding her expressionless face, eyes still open, lips slightly parted. One man pointed his gun at Vincent's temple, ordering him to step away from her. His words fell on deaf ears.

One woman started to scream, pointing to where a sword glinted in the brief flashes of lightning punctuating the dark; a large, double-edged broad sword, lying not a few inches away from the unmoving fingertips of another man. Cloud had not been seen by anyone in the town for months since the arrival of this stranger, a stranger who had become known to all as Tifa's strange, mysterious friend.

"I'll take her legs, you take her arms." The young doctor yelled over the storm, staring hard at Vincent, employing all of his training to get through to this man. "We lift on three. 1…2…3.

-0-

A\N: A lot of stuff had to be changed in this chapter. I took out the song, mainly because at the time I was obsessed with it so much I was trying to ram it down everyone's throats.

Enjoy.

x


	10. Honesty

Chapter 9: Honesty

The familiar dark shapes of her living room furniture became recognisable to her as the dawn approached, spilling a watery grey light through the drawn curtains. The house is eerily still around her, so quiet that she can hear the morning call of the birds nesting in the trees outside as though they sat upon the sill.

As she shifts, her muscles complain instantly, locking up, uncooperative to her demands. Her head feels clear though, waking from a long needed sleep. Her abdomen throbbed dully as she raised herself up onto her elbows, and she winced at finding thick layers of bandage with her probing fingers.

Something stirred in the room, her neck burning as she whipped it around too quickly to locate the source. She relaxed instantly upon recognising Vincent, slumped rather uncomfortably in the adjacent sofa, his expression troubled. Perhaps he was dreaming again. Her muscles screamed as she overrode their complaining, first sitting upright, and then standing. Two short but painful steps and she is at his side. Lowering herself down beside him, he does not stir. She took the opportunity to examine him carefully; He looked as though he hadn't slept at all for several days, his eyes sunken, the skin purpling a little from exhaustion.

Allowing her fingers to touch his cheek, she finds him barely warm. She heaved a sigh, slipping her arms around his torso and burying her face in his chest. She'd almost let him walk out of her life, yet he'd been there the whole time, even after she'd done her damn best to drive him away; She'd punched, kicked, screamed, cried, even kissed him, and he had taken it.

She remembered running out into the square in the rain, calling his name, desperately trying to get his attention. He had seen, was running towards her, his expression one which she had never seen him wear before. Terrified wouldn't quite cover it. His fingers had been trembling, adrenaline pounding through his arteries, yet he'd not missed. Once, then once more, just to make sure.

She'd blacked out then, barely even aware of her wound. She recalled her fear for Vincent's life, overriding that for her own.

The sword had cut along an old scar, opening it back up again, bringing with it old memories, old fears, and old nightmares.

But she knew that this time she would not spend years waiting for her white knight to return to her, only to find a shell. Her protector this time had come from the shadows, and would remain there, watching over her.

She didn't noticed him waking up, didn't sense the arms encircling her fragile body, until she felt his lips against her hair, whispering words of comfort as he rocked her gently. It was only then she realised she was sobbing, shoulders racking, ribs aching with each stuttered intake of breath.

"I'm here Tifa, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here..." He held her a little tighter against his chest. He had been too afraid of losing her that night to worry about what he was and wasn't giving away. He was aware of Cid in the kitchen, muttering expletives to himself for having being woken and clicking the kettle on. Shera was shuffling down the stairs, yawning in her pyjamas.

But he didn't care.

Tifa's sobbing subsided just as the sun crept over the valley hills, and she slipped back into an exhausted sleep. And Vincent too himself to sleep, glad that for this moment, Tifa was secure.

-0-

Shera had been called in to take care of Tifa's wound. She was pleased that on removing the dressings only a week on, the wound had begun to heal well, and showed no signs of infection. Mako exposure had some benefits after all. Tifa lay face up on her bed, wincing a little as Shera prodded her.

"How long have you been here?" Tifa mumbled, rubbing her eyes. She had been asleep for a further eleven hours, Vincent nowhere to be seen when she awoke.

"I've been here for three days," Shera replied, daubing the area with gauze. "and Vincent has never left your side since we arrived." She commented after a pause. Tifa did not answer. "Is there… something going on… between you two?"

"No." Tifa answered curtly, trying to hide her blush. "Vincent wasn't the type to let something happen, considering the mess I was when he came." She laughed a little, despite herself.

"I get the sense that you… wanted something to happen?" Shera tried to keep serious, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. Tifa's mouth twitched. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. He's very attractive."

"It's not that. It's… Vincent is a complex person to come to understand, but once you've got to know him, he is actually quite predictable." She paused, wringing her hands. "I'm just scared that… once he sees that I'm ok with you, he'll find an excuse to leave again… I feel like we were… getting somewhere, I guess."

Shera gave no comment, sensing Tifa's meditative mood. "He was… he is way out of his comfort zone here."

"Wow." Shera breathed, daubing the wound with antiseptic. "All of that going on in one head? It's no wonder he's the way he is."

Once Shera had finished, Tifa stood shakily, stumbling to her bedroom window. There, she got a view of her backyard. She peered through the blinds, to see Vincent hanging out her washing; just a few bed sheets, towels and tablecloths. She giggled to herself. Such a domestic image: Vincent with the washing basket at his feet, a peg between his lips as he struggles to hold the edge of the sheet in place before he fastens it.

His expression was natural and relaxed. Tifa enjoyed watching him like this, yet the sentiment was rather bittersweet; for as long as she is around him, he can never be natural, relaxed. He put so much effort into maintaining his stoic facade, in the event she does something stupid like try to kiss him, or ask slightly more and more invasive questions.

She was ashamed of her behaviour, for making him feel so on edge around her. She wished she could begin again, and take back all the angry words she had said.

On acknowledging the nearness of his impending departure, Tifa realised how much he had done for her. He had battled her through her depression and suicide, he had protected her every moment, from being awake to asleep, and he had never walked away, even when it was getting too much.

Well, until then. She made a mental note to thank him, before he got the chance to slip away, without saying goodbye. But she reckoned that he thought enough of her to do at least that.

-0-

Vincent was overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of other people. He excused himself after dinner and left the house for a walk out of the town that was beginning to make him feel restless and enclosed. His hands in his pockets, he traversed the square, not looking at the spot where Tifa had lay bleeding in his arms, only days before.

He came to the border of the town, the grasses rippling in the light summer evening breeze. It lifted his hair, his face warmed by the golden sun. Walking at a slow pace, he wandered into the meadow, watching the rabbits bobbing about in the grasses, wary of his presence. He eventually settled with his back against the trunk of a large oak tree, legs crossed at the ankles, lazily watching the day move around him, unaware of anything for once, he thought.

An hour slipped by. Gazing back at the town, eyes squinted in the sun; he could make out a slowly approaching figure, clad in white, heading in his direction. After a few moments, Tifa came into focus, her long auburn hair rippling in the breeze. He sighed slightly inside, daring to hope that she wouldn't damage his secure seclusion.

She said nothing as she came near, warming him inside with a sincere open smile he had not seen grace her lips in a long while. She sat several feet in front of him with a wince of pain on the grass, her fingers toying lazily with the buttercups and cornflowers that grew wild on the Kalm plains. Vincent did not feel inclined to break the silence. Tifa had come to seek solitude too, and he wasn't going to deny her that.

"It's a beautiful evening isn't it?" she turned her head slightly. He examined the part of her face that her hair exposed; a cheek, the tip of her delicate nose, her sensitive lips, slightly parted in a smile.

"Yes. It is beautiful."

"I want to say something to you, Vincent." She was kneeling a foot or so to his left, and raised her face to him. In the light from the sun, her features were set ablaze; gold gleamed in her hair, amber in her eyes, rose in her lips.

"Thank you. Thank you for… well everything I guess," she ran a hand through her hair, pulling strands over her shoulders. "I don't want you to feel that it was your fault, what happened to me. I shouldn't have done what I did, and I understand your reasons for being angry with me, for my behaviour. I feel I at least owe you an explanation."

"Tifa you do not owe me anything. I should have protected you like I promised I would. I was the one who… who failed you." Vincent turned his face away, slightly embarrassed at the way she was making him feel; ashamed of his blankness, and of his stubbornness.

"Don't reprimand yourself so much, Vincent," she gazed down at her hands, twirling a daisy between her fingers. "I should be doing that, after I pushed you away so much." Vincent swallowed and turned his face away, gazing unfocused, at the hills in the distance.

"One thing I said though… I meant it. You remember what I said about the part of you that thinks something could happen between us. I want to appeal to that part of you, Vincent: The part of you that I see when you look away from me." She reached out her hand and gently turned his face towards hers, her amber eyes searching deep into his claret ones. "What are you so afraid of, Vincent?"

"I… I don't know." He answered her honestly, so that she was a little surprised. "I don't know what I am afraid of. But when I look at you, I see… I realise how easy it is to have it taken away." She removed her hand from his face, letting it fall back into her lap. It was her turn to look away, her face forming a slightly amazed expression.

Moments passed, where neither moved nor spoke, until Tifa got slowly to her feet, and began walking back towards Kalm, leaving Vincent's mind reeling, still sat beneath the oak tree.

-0-


	11. A Burial

Chapter 10: A Burial

She found herself back in her own room at night. Partly because she wanted to show Vincent she was strong enough, and partly so she would not have face him in that dark. She was suddenly cautious, hyper aware of Vincent's perception of her. Following his revelation beneath the oak tree, her mind had been left reeling, conflicted between an unaddressed grief for Cloud's passing, and her growing feelings for Vincent.

She should have been pleased; she long gave up telling herself that she wasn't attracted to him. It was plain that something between them had changed, though whether just on her behalf, or on both, she wasn't entirely sure. Her pragmatic side told her that her attachment was purely opportunistic, that had it been another man, she might feel the same way for him. Yet her heart disagreed. There had been something there already. A miniscule thing, locked away within her, so small she didn't even know it was there. All it took was a little care and attention, and that seed had sprouted, beginning to grow into something that promised to be beautiful.

It would take so much more before anything between them was ever possible, she suspected. Vincent was far too cautious and damaged in his own way to allow consequence to dictate his emotions.

All she did know, was that now wasn't the time to speak of it. Cloud was dead, the first man she had ever loved, leaving the gaping hole in her heart chafing and bleeding at its new loss. In fact, she had lost him years ago, though for as long as he lived she had had hope. Now that was gone.

She still woke in the night sometimes, alone and shivering, craving the warmth of an embrace that wasn't there waiting for her beneath the sheets. This night being no exception, she gave in to an impulse, silently berating herself for her weakness. She tiptoed down the stairs, sure enough to find Vincent awake on the couch; He had been reading, though he slotted his bookmark into place and set his novel aside upon noticing her dithering at the foot of the stairs.

"Do you need something?"

"Actually… yes: A drink."

-0-

An hour later found them cramped together on the small sofa in the bar. Vincent had set the fire to crackling merrily before them, thawing away her shivers. Still, she rubbed at imaginary goosebumps on her arms, tucking her feet beneath her. She sipped at her glass of mulled wine, soothed by the scent of cloves and cinnamon. Vincent sat comfortably beside her with a whiskey, gaze trained lazily on the fire.

She studied him, her chin in her hand. He seemed relaxed, by anyone's standards. Yet she'd gotten to know him so much better recently, tuned herself into his habits, the way he liked to sit, how his body language reflected or contrasted with his moods. His feet were crossed at the ankles, long legs stretched out before him, yet his fingers resting in his lap were tensed, twitching occasionally, the tendons shortening and lengthening beneath the surface of his skin.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she took a rather large sip of her drink to lubricate her speech.

"It's… It's the funeral in three days."

So far, their conversation had managed to avoid Cloud all together in the days since the incident. Vincent's gaze snapped to her face, and in an instant that pretence of ease was gone. His legs were drawn up, drink temporarily forgotten.

"Everyone is coming?"

She nodded dumbly, aware of how awkward Vincent was feeling. He mirrored her, nodding back because it was all he could think to do. There was nothing to say, except the obvious which they had both been skirting around for days. Even Cid, most notorious of their friends for saying what needed to be said when nobody else would, had kept his lips firmly sealed without any persuasion from Shera.

"It's going to be strange…" The word seemed so ill-fitted. She was dreading it, unsure of how she should act in front of so many friends who hadn't even known. "Saying goodbye…"

"I… He was a good man, once."

Tifa nodded silently again, taking another sip of her drink. Then another. "He was all I had left… After my parents, and after… after Sephiroth burned down Nibelheim. And now it's all gone."

…Because of him. He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. He had taken what little she had left away. Though he didn't regret it for an instant, although _that_ was a sentiment he would never reveal.

"When you shot him… did you… intend to kill him?" she suddenly asked, her eyes beginning to fill up with tears. His stomach gave an involuntary flip. She had broken the unspoken vow of silence, crossed the line into unfamiliar territory. "Honestly?"

If he was honest with her about this, could he ever repair the damage? "I told Cloud… that if he ever came back to hurt you… I would kill him." Shame knotted up his throat, a nervous sweat breaking out all over his body.

Tifa dissolved into tears, her hands covering her face as she turned away from him. This was different from all those other times she had cried, he recalled thinking then, anguish and torment gnawing away at him. His raised hand at the level of her shoulder quivered; too tainted to touch and far too guilty to comfort.

"Tifa I had no other choice, he was going to kill you." his protests were in vain, his voice failing to obey him in remaining calm and steady. He even sounded guilty.

Though he said nothing more, his mind recalled the details of the event; the glint of Cloud's sword in the moonlight, the way his own hands shook as he raised his gun arm. It had never felt so heavy to lift in his life, and suddenly it had never been so important that he didn't miss. One shot to the leg had thrown off his lunge. The blade had still made contact, her scream cut short as she crumpled to the ground. The second bullet tore through his chest, shredding his lungs to pieces, shrapnel embedded in his heart.

Curling into a tight ball on the floor by his feet, no more sense could be made from her unhushed, shoulder-wracking sobs.

A sudden wave of indignation hit him, his lips pulled tight. He had saved her from Cloud, not once, but twice. Yet it seemed the real enemy was now herself. He lifted her to her feet without ceremony as she set about kicking in resistance, taking her against her will to the window overlooking the square.

"Look, Tifa. If I hadn't of done what I did, _that_ would have been the spot where _you_ died, not him," he stressed, her wrists held tight in his grasp to stop her from punching him. "Did you seriously expect me to let that happen?"

She only whimpered in response.

"What's going on?"

Cid stood in his bed clothes in the doorway, groggy eyed and yawning, taking everything in with an air of suspicion. Vincent had never been so pleased to see him, begging with his gaze for the pilot to rescue him.

"C'mon Tifa, let's get you back to bed." Cid took Tifa by the elbow and led her into the back, shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder, leaving Vincent reeling in the bar. To vent his frustration, he picked up his whiskey glass, drained it, and then threw it to the floor, the glass shattering violently.

Would Tifa ever see what he had done for her? No. Of course not. Not now, at least.

He had allowed Lucrecia to make her own mistakes, mistakes that cost her life in the end, and where had that gotten him; Propelled thirty years into the future, sharing his body with demons, unable to move on from his not-so distant past.

Still, he wasn't about to let Tifa suffer the same fate. In spite of everything, how angry he was, how much he just wanted to slam the door after him as he stormed out of this godforsaken town, he would remain behind a little while longer. He would have had to say goodbye to Tifa, eventually though, and he didn't know how that would transpire. She had started to expect things from him; she'd started to get attached. Yet that wasn't even the worst part of it: he wanted to stay. When she wasn't crying, berating him for his failures and faults, he enjoyed her company, probably more than anyone else's.

His mother had told him once, that he couldn't lose what he didn't have. And she was right.

-0-

The day of the funeral loomed. Tifa had simply existed for most of the day, not leaving her room, and eating little. Her clothes for the next day lay on her chair, simple black attire which she had picked impassively. She didn't know how she felt any longer.

Drained, tired from no sleep. She didn't miss him anymore, didn't feel that emptiness inside when she realised he no longer loved her. Nor did she hate him. She waited out the dawn, standing at her window, not moving, watching a weak sun ascend into the watery sky. Coldness crept over her skin, a light shiver travelling across her body as she suddenly became aware of how long she had been stood there, unmoving. With a sigh, she divulged herself of her clothing, coming to stand before her bedroom mirror, staring dispassionately at her dreary reflection.

Sharply protruding hipbones, flat stomach, pointed shoulders, sunken eyes. Her hair hung limp about her face, her arms crossed defensively across her breasts. An ugly scar, only just healing again, crossed her abdomen, a red smile, an evil grin. She hated to see it. It was forever a reminder of her past and of her losses.

Her every muscle ached, as they used to after she had been to training as a girl. But she hadn't trained in years, and all that muscle definition and tone had been lost long ago. She was a shadow of her former self.

But today was a new day, a new beginning. Just like Midgar, although it had only been two years. It felt longer. She smiled. She could start a fresh, with a new house, somewhere quiet, perhaps on a riverbank, or by a lake. She could walk there every evening, grass tickling her ankles, wild flowers grasped loosely in one hand, and someone else's hand clasped in the other.

Oh Vincent….

Tears forced their way down her cheeks; it felt almost painful, as though the tears of previous nights had left weeping sores where they had fallen. Ignoring them, she dressed her aching body in black, the items not fitting her frame the same way they used to.

Cid and Shera mistook her tears for grieving, tried to comfort her when she went down to the bar. She sobbed silently into a tissue, refusing to speak, until it was time to leave for the burial.

It was in a beautiful place, the Kalm cemetery. She thought of the old Cloud, the one she had loved, and of his apparent happiness with the town when they had arrived here two years ago. How he had smiled, how she had smiled.

The day was fresh and cool, and light breeze caressing her tear-stained cheeks. Yuffie, Red, Barrett; they were all there, faces solemn yet shocked, ashamed that they hadn't noticed their friend slowly fading away at the hands of a man she loved so much. And Vincent, stood at the back of the procession. His back was turned to the group, form leaning heavily against the tall willow tree that shaded the cemetery.

The minister said a prayer over the grave. A prayer Tifa had heard before, when at the funerals of her parents. God it hurt so much. Why did it always come to this?

_"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters…_

She longed for such peace, one day.

_He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness, for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me…._

She was never afraid, once. A tremor in Vincent's shoulders caught her attention. She felt as though she were walking in a dream; no one watched her as she moved around the assembled group, towards Vincent.

_You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; my cup runs over. _

She reached the tree, stopping behind his tall frame, unsure of what to say. Instead, she slid her fingers between his, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She wanted to tell him she didn't blame him anymore, that she had only been angry. Angry with Cloud, for never being the things he had promised her.

_Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever."_

-0-

Everyone had returned to the bar. The cemetery was lit, as by tradition, with small lanterns, flickering in the breeze. It was nightfall in Kalm, and Tifa had not moved from the grave side since the morning, knelt on the grass, staring at the freshly turned soil.

"Tifa, it's getting late."

"I know Vincent." Tifa sighed, struggling to her feet, her joints complaining at her sudden movements.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" He asked, tossing a coat over her shoulders. She offered him a weak smile, threading her arm through his. "Everyone has been waiting for you."

"I'm sorry." She sighed, walking stiffly, their conjoined shadow moving in and out of the little pools of lantern light. "I just needed to talk to him. It's been the only time that he has listened."

"I understand. And what did he tell you?" She looked up quickly, expecting to find mockery in his face, but found none, only the directness of the Vincent she knew.

"That I should try to forget. Move to a place with… green pastures and still waters…" She lowered her gaze, as though ashamed.

"Is there such a place, for you?" He was leading her to the square. The moonlight illuminated the paving, and she could remember the taste of rain and blood on her lips, the cold of her wet clothes on her skin.

"I haven't found it yet." She sighed, resting heavily against him, suddenly weak. "Vincent I'm cold and tired. Please take me home." She whimpered, before fainting. Vincent steadied her, before hooking an arm under her knees, lifting her into his arms. He too remembered the rain, the blood, and the cold, and Cloud's last words:

_Love Tifa like I never could._

_A/N: A little fixing here and there as well for this chapter, though I am still happy with the last two parts!_


	12. Wutai

Chapter 11: In Wutai

Tifa awakened to the sounds of morning, but not as she remembered; the faint sound of tolling bells in the mountains, the low hum of the monks in their morning prayers, and the soft trickling of water over smooth stones.

She nestled back into her bed, and smiled, watching the light dancing on the walls, bouncing off the surface of the pond outside her window. Three months ago, she travelled back with Yuffie to Wutai, hoping to stay with her for a short time. A 'short time' began to stretch into a long time. She found that she was enjoying life here more than she had expected she would.

It was peaceful here, and the people were new, unfamiliar. And perhaps just as well. She felt better, less trapped. She enjoyed the lack of recognition, and the absence of duty she felt here. She was no longer alone, with Yuffie to keep her company, as well as all the new friends she was making at the Dojo. What better place to continue her training than Wutai, the home of the ancient martial arts which she had studied since her childhood.

Slowly the moves were returning to her, her mind calmed by weeks of yoga practice, sitting still by the waterfalls in the mountains. Her muscles were returning as well, no longer forgotten due to malnourishment and inactivity. She ate with Yuffie and her family around a traditional low table, laughing and recounting frivolous daily activities. Something she had not done in a long while.

Though she had found stillness and a sense of home here, she lacked something still. She had written a few times, but she missed the company of Vincent. He replied briefly; no different to how he would have spoken, should he have been there. She missed his presence, the security it gave her, the enticing thought that maybe something could be, if he were to change his mind.

Didn't he realise that he had crushed her hopes? She had come to miss the man who at first glimpse was cold and heartless, who rarely gave anything away. Yet Tifa knew better than that. In the end he had said too much and his openness had confused her. His willingness to admit his feelings in one rare occurrence had been entirely unexpected.

Still, she hadn't allowed herself to get her hopes up. Vincent was, in his own way, telling her why he could _not_ be with her.

And that hurt.

Sometimes at night she couldn't help the tears, no matter how much she told herself she was being foolish, expecting so much from him. After all, hadn't he done enough? She cried for herself for once, not caring to be selfish, perhaps for the first time in her life.

She'd gotten what she thought she had wanted once, and that had crashed down around her. But the man who had saved her from the rubble was only serving to show her the void left inside was still filled with choking dust.

Loss was a strange feeling, she recalled. There were many types of loss; losing her home, all that she owned in the fire, the destruction of her bar in sector 7, struggling to deal with the death of her friends as the plate fell; the death of her parents; then losing someone you were never sure you ever had.

And with Vincent, she felt that. She had been too weak, too angry with him for being nothing short of himself. She'd been so filled with a sense of injustice, that she couldn't see what he had done for her, and it pained her to think he blamed himself still.

She became aware of how still the dawn seemed; morning was fast approaching, a soft grey light filtering in from outside as the sun crept up behind the mountains.

Sighing, she slid out of bed and slipped on shoes and a jacket, making her way silently down the corridors of Yuffie's home. She prayed that her footfalls, which had little practice in avoiding the creaks, did not wake the household.

Stepping outside into the gardens, she gazed up at the mountains. They were shrouded in the early morning mist, and were only visible as ghost like projections against a murky grey backdrop. The trees had been turning their leaves recently though the days still clung to summer's warmth. Still, the morning possessed a biting chill.

"What's so good that it's keeping you up at this time?" Yuffie yawned, stepping out into the garden.

She didn't answer immediately, keeping her chin tucked close to her chest. She'd been honest with Yuffie about what had occurred between herself and Vincent. Mostly because it was kind of cathartic to spill out everything to someone, just so she didn't go crazy thinking about it.

"Is It Vincent?" Yuffie probed, voice softer now, more cautious.

"I… I think I'm missing him a lot more than I'd care to admit. Not that I'm not enjoying myself here, though." She added hastily, aware of how her statement might have sounded. "Taking some time out has been just what I needed to think things over."

"If you miss him, you should visit him, y'know?" Yuffie yawned, resting her head on Tifa's shoulder.

"I would... but it's not that simple is it?"

"I guess. Vincent's a strange one alright... You don't half know how to choose 'em, Tif."

She'd thought about dating other guys in the past, but it was too simple to fall into a relationship with someone she met at her bar, for example. Most of them were shallow, and she wasn't a fool; she was attractive, and she had a figure that men desired; she often felt their eyes on her, but she had made it clear to them, that to step out of line would have dire consequences.

But Vincent was something different.

She sometimes felt his eyes on her, when he thought she didn't notice. But she knew he would never admit to it- Back to square-bloody-one. Vincent was always on the recovery from her oppressive presence, her constant invasive questions, and her habit of shattering any comfort that had been allowed to develop between them.

Tifa was young, broken hearted, and in need of support. She had long ago realised that Vincent wasn't going to be able to offer that to her forever. He was older, wiser, and still recovering himself, because although he hid it well, she knew he still suffered. His dreams punished him, reminding him of his past mistakes.

She bit her lip, flushing upon the recollection of a memory. He had tried not to show it, but his eyes had widened in shock, he'd tried to hide what he had seen, but it was too late. The desire was there, barely contained words trembling on his slightly parted lips, the sweat gleaming on his chest, his forehead. She didn't want to create false hope, by placing herself as the sole object of his desires, but after he had looked at her like that; wide eyed and still gasping for air from a kiss barely just broken, he never looked upon her the same again.

Vincent was a man, with needs, emotions, despite what he tried to maintain otherwise. Tifa wondered if he still dreamt of her; because she had also dreamt.

His eyes are so hungry when she visualises him, and his touch on her skin is almost too real; and she wakes up with frustration in her veins. Because she knows that if he weren't so stubborn, and she so weak, they could both have what they desired.

-0-

_A/N: my favourite chapter are to come! I wrote these more recently than the earlier ones, so I think I won't have that much to change, hopefully!_

_Thank you to those who have re-read this and left me kind reviews._

_JJ_


	13. Forgiveness

Chapter 12: Forgiveness

It was entering into November when she received the call from Shera. She was delighted to hear from her at last, and Shera was equally thrilled to hear Tifa sounded much more like her old self. She was wondering if Tifa and Yuffie had plans for Christmas, and if not, then the festivities were to take place her home in Rocket with Cid. Tifa had accepted immediately with bursting enthusiasm, glad of an opportunity for a reunion, which came so rarely these days.

"Oh, and I called Vincent." Shera intoned. Tifa could visualise the twinkle in her eye. "And he's agreed to stay too! So that's all of us!"

Tifa's heart lurched in her chest. She was going to him again. She spent the day smiling with optimism, Yuffie smiling because it amused the little Shinobi to see her so pleased about seeing Vincent, of all people.

To Yuffie, he was boring, unresponsive. She'd never been as successful as Tifa in extracting conversation from him, but then again, she didn't have as much patience. She was looking forward to seeing what may develop, when they arrived in Rocket town. To Tifa, it couldn't come fast enough.

-0-

It was snowing. Yuffie giggled excitedly, fidgeting in her seat, clearly anxious to get outside and wreak some havoc. Tifa adjusted her earmuffs and scarf, unable to stop smiling each time Yuffie caught her eye; her cheerfulness was infectious.

They were travelling by train to Rocket Town, but there had been some delays due to the weather, so it was approaching late afternoon when they finally pulled into the station. Yuffie and Tifa shuffled off the train, laden with their belongings, boots crunching on the snow-dusted platform. Tifa squinted up at the old Rocket launch pad, the metal girders caked in snow. She imagined the old craft leaning perilously over to one side, sprinkled with snow. Now it was just space rubble, drifting somewhere amongst the stars.

"C'mon Tif, our dinner'll be cold!" Yuffie urged, hobbling past her down the footpath, barely managing to keep a hold of her bags. Tifa laughed, taking the opportunity while Yuffie's back was turned to stoop and scramble some snow together, forming a compact ball between her palms. Sniggering, she launched the missile, the ball sailing through the air and hitting Yuffie in the square of her back with a satisfying thump. Tifa squealed with delight, her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Yuffie stopped dead in her tracks, letting her bags fall to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

"Oh no you didn't..." Yuffie quickly retaliated, launching a flurry of rapidly made snowballs. Tifa evaded all but one, which made contact with her backside as she tried to wriggle out of its path. The war continued, with Tifa gaining the upper hand for the moment, her cheeks flushed with the exhilaration.

Up the hill, Vincent wondered what all the screaming was about; probably just the children playing out in the snow. After all he had encountered several snowball fights on his way down here; he had heard the train pulling into the station. Upon looking down from the crest of the hill, Vincent smirked to himself from within the folds of his coat and scarf; Tifa and Yuffie were involved in a furious snowball fight-come-scuffle, where the snowballs were beginning to seem more like lumps, neither girl taking the chance of spending too much time on forming a streamlined missile when in such close proximity.

It was good to see Tifa laughing, her cheeks pink, smile open and unhindered. Her long hair flowed from beneath a woollen hat, her face barely visible due to the scarf wound tightly around her neck. And she was beautiful. Vincent swallowed the lump that threatened to form in his throat, shaking himself slightly. She looked happy, healthy, and relaxed. Staying with Yuffie was clearly what she had needed; to get away from it all, and be herself.

The period of her remaining oblivious to observation came to an abrupt end, as Tifa noticed his solitary figure stood a few hundred yards away. Vincent cursed himself for making it seem as though he was faltering in his approach, and immediately began to walk towards them upon his recognition.

"Vinnieeeee!" Yuffie hugged his tall frame excitedly, leaving traces of snow on his black coat. She began to jabber away, plopping some of their luggage into his arms, not seeming to have noticed the sudden subdued nature of her companion. Tifa nervously tucked her hair behind her ears, picking up her forgotten bags from where she had abandoned them. Vincent offered her his free hand to take one, but she shook her head, declining his offer.

"You look well." He found himself telling her, as Yuffie tramped ahead, singing a rude Christmas carol to herself. He regretted how impersonal his statement sounded. What else was he supposed to say? You look healthy at last, I see, started eating? You look beautiful...

"Thank you." She murmured, her eyes focused on the footprints before her that Yuffie had laid down. "I've been eating a lot better. Yuffie's cook is quite something!" She was trying to lighten the mood, he recognised, but they both knew it was just more awkward conversation. "Not that I didn't enjoy your cooking." she added, blushing a little. Vincent pretended not to have noticed.

"That's alright. I won't hold a grudge."

There was something in the way that he delivered this statement that made Tifa think he meant more that the limits of the conversation implied. Had he forgiven her past foolishness? Was he trying to repair the damage created by the tensions that had been allowed to develop between them?

Seeing him again was unlike how she had pictured it to be. He looked no different; still tall, pale and quiet. But he seemed a little more at ease. Whether or not that would last, was another matter.

Tifa was glad of the interruption in the form of arrival at Shera and Cid's house, where she was able to engage herself in conversation with Shera, listen to Marlene talk about her daily escapades of snowman building, and robin spotting. But she was aware of Vincent's eyes on her; if she caught his gaze, she found herself unable to maintain it for long. And she realised that the feelings were still the same; the same flutter in her stomach, constriction in her throat, the same longing for him.

She had fallen him. It was so obvious to her she couldn't deny it any longer.

But this time, she told herself, there was no chance at all she was going to say a word. She'd come too far on her own to ruin it all again. She wanted to show him how strong she had become, and all without his help. She set her jaw resolutely and returned his stare with an offhand smile. He lowered his eyes to his hands.

They didn't speak again for a while. But later, she wished that she hadn't allowed her stubbornness to get ahead of her. If she hadn't, then maybe it would never have happened.

-0-

Cid was smoking outside, watching Marlene and Tifa building a snowman in the garden as the last light of day was beginning to fade. Vincent was sat next to him, sharing his cigar, arms crossed tightly across his chest to trap out the cold. Cid passed the cigar to Vincent as he slowly exhaled the thick pungent smoke into the air. Vincent took a long inhale, savouring the strange flavours presented to him.

"She looks good, doesn't she?" Cid nodded towards the girls, laughing a little, his foot jiggling as it rested on his knee.

"She looks... stunning." Vincent admitted, watching as Tifa searched for pebbles beneath the thick carpet of snow with which to create a smile for their project, who currently only sported a pair of eyes and a nose.

"I wasn' talkin' about Tifa..." Cid said softly, turning to face Vincent, his lively blue eyes dancing as he observed Vincent's silence. The snow'man' sported straw for hair, covered by Tifa's colourful wool hat. "You don' have to pretend Vince, any fool can see how you feel abou' her."

"And what is that exactly?" Vincent got the feeling that his defensiveness would do little to deter the pilot, who was currently giving a throaty laugh at his comment.

"Vinnie, Vinnie, Vinnie... Denial is such a foolish thing. But we all do it, y'know? I mean lookit me n' Shera? We're married now ain't we?" Cid smiled proudly, his wedding band glowing from the amber glow of the cigar's end as he held it to his lips for another drag. "The only person who don't know how you feel is the one person who _should_ know. Tifa loves ya, Vince. And you're both fools for sayin' nothin."

When Tifa and Marlene had completed their task, Cid and Vincent were called in to judge the final product. A tower of white, with shining grey buttons and wide smile, the snowwoman was a fine figure to behold. Marlene explained the intricacies of snowman construction to Cid, while Tifa chuckled at her side, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink, her hair free flowing now, removed from the constraints of her hat. Vincent returned her gentle smile, almost shocking himself. He swallowed and glanced away. Staring offhandedly at the snowwoman, her shadow long in the moonlight, Cid's words resonated in his mind.

_Was_ it that obvious?

Cold, yet satisfied with their end product, the group returned indoors, enveloped by the warmth of the house. Vincent insisted on remaining outside for a little longer, resuming his seat, the cold biting at his skin. He ignored it.

They were both fools; Him for being so cold and she for being the opposite, too soon. It had all gone wrong, never a balance between them, no common ground. But now, surely she had been thinking about it? Four months away, but she had still written, inquiring about his whereabouts, checking on his health, imploring he visit their friends too.

And he had; He had travelled to Cosmo Canyon, staying with Nanaki for a few weeks.

But he had become restless. His wanderings took him back to Kalm. The bar had been empty for a while (he had returned several times, almost as if trying to prove that the events had unfolded there had actually happened), but now it was sold, open under new management. Entering without a thought, he had encountered Alexandra, who had bombarded him with questions; was Tifa ok, where was she now, was he ok, had he seen Tifa?

And he was ashamed of himself because he didn't know the answer to the questions, save for where she was. And he had noticed Alexandra's disapproval. He hadn't wanted to overwhelm her with questions of her welfare; Yuffie was taking care of her now, and hadn't he done enough for her already? Now she was taking things into her own hands.

He had thought about going to Wutai, but had long decided against it. He was never one to rock the boat, and he never wasn't about to do it now, either.

But he missed her. She was a friend; a valuable one with a heart of gold, who would risk everything for those she loved. Loved... she had loved, and he had loved. They had both lost, too. They had so much more in common with each other than he cared to admit, sometimes.

Yet Cloud loomed like a spectre in his mind. He feared that she would always blame him for Cloud's death. Vincent didn't sleep at night sometimes; he would replay Cloud's last moments over and over in his head, recalling the last words he had uttered from blood covered lips.

_Love Tifa like I never could._

The real Cloud was there that night, dying as Vincent gripped his shirt, calling him back, swearing at him for all the trouble he had caused; for leaving Tifa, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

Tifa...

"Vincent?" Tifa was suddenly there, startling him from his spiralling musings. She was holding two cups of steaming liquid in her gloved hands, a soft smile on her face. He accepted it gratefully, and moved slightly to allow her to sit next to him. She took the seat and cupped her hands around the mug, holding it to her lips, blowing absently over the liquid's surface. Vincent took a sip to discover a liqueur hot chocolate; one of Tifa's many specialties.

"I couldn't resist." She commented, gazing at the snowwoman and taking a long sip herself. "Orange liqueur. Do you like it?"

"Yes." He admitted, glad of the warmth the beverage offered his freezing hands.

"Are you alright? Sitting out here in the cold?" She inquired.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"I see. Thinking..." She intoned pensively. "I did a lot of that too, while I've been away."

"And have you reached any conclusions?" He asked softly.

"I…" She swallowed down her nervousness, gripping her mug tightly in her mitten-covered hands. "I wanted to say that I don't blame you for… for Cloud's death." She said his name after a sharp inhale and a slow exhale. Clearly the memories of that night pained her to recall, as they did him. "I am sorry if you thought I was angry with you. I am not angry… not anymore."

Her chin was set resolutely, though she seemed calm. He nodded gratefully, aware of a sudden burden leaving his shoulders. If only he could have heard Lucrecia say similar words. Y_ou tried to stop me Vincent, and because I ignored you, I ended up dead. I'm sorry I didn't listen. So sorry…_

"Are you alright?" She was leaning around him, a gentle frown furrowing her brows, barely visible beneath the drawn up hood of her winter coat.

"Ah… yes. Just… I was just thinking. It's good to be forgiven." How good it felt to finally get forgiveness, for something he was so afraid she _wouldn't_ forgive him for.

"There was never anything to forgive, Vincent." He made a noise of acceptance as she burrowed down into her scarf and layered coats a little deeper, steam still swirling from her hot beverage as she raised it to her lips to take a sip.

"And are you alright? What do you plan to do next?"

"I'm fine." She ran a hand through her hair absently. "Though I'm still trying to figure out _what_ I want to do. I can't stay with Yuffie forever and… after I sold the bar…"

She'd been searching for months, unable to find somewhere she really felt she belonged. Nibelheim was a no- too many bad memories there. Kalm, she'd already said her goodbyes to; Wutai was too quiet and too different for her, at least for now. She'd considered Junon, new Mideel, even Midgar. But nowhere as of yet, appealed to her.

"You'll find somewhere. Everyone has a place to call home." He said, hoping his words were of some comfort to her. She smiled, a small laugh escaping through her nose.

"And you? Where are you living?"

"Nowhere. I've been travelling around a lot recently. Then Shera called, inviting me here."

"You went to Kalm? Alex wrote to me." Tifa asked softly, gazing down at her hands as she clasped her drink. Vincent's heart skipped a beat in his chest.

"Yes. I was... passing by."

Tifa was staring at him intently now. "Why did you go there, Vincent?"

"..." He found himself unable to answer, unable to find a suitable reason, without divulging the truth. But she waved her hand dismissively.

"It's alright. I guess it won't kill me to never know. Just… Don't be a stranger. I've missed you." She reached across and gave him a one-armed squeeze, eyes screwed shut as his scent washed over her. Then she stood and re-entered the house, leaving Vincent's mind reeling beneath the barren trees in Shera's garden.

-0-

_A little dialogue change here- I felt it was important that Tifa voiced her forgiveness for Vincent for a crime she didn't truly hold him responsible for in her heart._

_Thanks for reading! _

_JJ_


	14. The Truth

Chapter 13: The Truth

There'd been a power cut. They had groped around in the dark, searching for the box of candles that people always seemed to keep in their houses for such occurrences. Cid had provided the lighter, and soon the whole room was filled with candlelight and laughter, the novelty and romanticism of a candlelit Christmas sinking in.

Tifa was smiling as she placed down the last candle-filled jam jar. It was what she had wanted for a long time; to see everyone together. And it made her so much happier that Vincent had agreed to come. She didn't know where he was now- he wasn't in the room with the others during the power cut- perhaps he was upstairs.

She wandered into the living room from the kitchen and stood leaning in the doorway, laughing with Cid's animated jokes made at Yuffie's expense. The young girl slapped a hand to her forehead in exasperation at the futility of her resistance.

"Excuse me."

Vincent was back, wanted to squeeze past her to regain his previous seat which Tifa insisted he took. Before she knew it, all eyes were on her, and Vincent was shifting rather uncomfortably at her side.

"Hey, _you_ can't ignore the mistletoe!" Yuffie cried, determined that if she had had to kiss Cid, then Vincent had no grounds for refusal. Tifa flushes slightly, though thankfully the candlelight spared her the embarrassment of the others' notice. She had forgotten that every doorway had a sprig of that damn flower pinned above it, to ensnare innocent passers-through.

"C'mon Vincent, it's only a kiss." Shera gave an innocent wink, though underneath Tifa knew she was trying hard to brush over the obviously sensitive issue. Tifa smiled apologetically, the little liqueur she had consumed not serving her well enough in giving her courage.

She turned her face towards him, offering a small shrug as though saying, 'hey it wasn't my call this time'. If the others knew the source of her discomfort she had no doubt that they wouldn't press so much. She could forgive them for it, because she wasn't about to tell them the truth.

She lifted her eyes, pupils dancing between his, searching for any flaw in his expression that might give anything away. The firelight danced over his smooth skin, his face expressionless and impassive. Then defeat lowered his eyes and slumped his shoulders a fraction, and she couldn't quite believe it was happening as he turned his face down towards hers, allowing her parted lips to brush against his mouth.

The situation held no familiarity. Her eyes fluttered closed, trying to shut of stochastic darting thoughts as his mouth descended over hers. Vincent had never willingly kissed her as he did now. His mouth was warm and soft, a breath lingering between their lips as they parted; A promise for more perhaps, or something else?

They parted swiftly. He turned and ducked into the room, leaving her blinking stupidly still stood beneath the mistletoe. She swallowed, sucking in her bottom lip to reaffirm his taste, before taking a deep breath and following him inside.

They carried on as they had been before, with no member of the party giving any indication that they recognised the tension between them. Tifa's fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her drink from the table, knees threatening to betray her as she lowered herself down into a seated position on the floor.

She sat at the foot of the armchair which Vincent occupied, twirling a glass of deep ruby port in her hand, not really watching the game of charades that was now in full flow before her. The stiffness of the figure beside her suggested that perhaps he wasn't paying attention either.

That kiss had been different; Unaccompanied by neither shame nor guilt, even though it was given under pressure. _He_ had kissed her, willingly, and publically. Perhaps she was overanalysing things as usual, yet perhaps this kiss could be considered wholly significant.

The candles burned merrily in the room, gentle music from the battery-powered radio added to the overall ambience as the Christmas tree glittered in the corner, a stack of present nestled under its branches. She could smell the fragrant port, mulled berries, as well as the fresh scent of pine needles and the log fire.

She was content and relaxed, probably for the first time in a long while.

Dozing slightly, she suddenly realised that her head was resting gently against Vincent's thigh. Then as she stiffened and made to move away, she became aware of Vincent's fingers entwining in her hair, gently pulling the strands away from the nape of her neck. Shivers erupted from his fingers' points of contact on her scalp, crawling over her body, down her spine to her very finger tips.

Marlene had settled herself at Tifa's other side, begging for details, without shame, of what it was like to kiss Vincent underneath the mistletoe. Suddenly aware that everyone was listening, she hesitated in her answer. She could only guess as to what the others knew about herself and Vincent; she hadn't sworn them to secrecy, and she couldn't blame them for speculating.

Vincent had to know by now. He was obviously avoiding it, and she'd come to accept that. Love and relationships, they were a two person game, she reminded herself. Though she had tried to move on mentally, telling herself that he wasn't interested in her that way, that he would never want a relationship, that they were friends first before anything else… She couldn't force him to change, not now. He was too independent, aloof and reluctant to open himself up to anyone else.

They couldn't just make that leap, from being friends, and distant ones at that, to lovers, all because of her stupid expectations.

And she'd been totally at ease with that, until now…

Until that stupid mistletoe had blown everything out and into the open again. In that moment where he'd leaned in to kiss her, ruby eyes smouldering and yet unreadable, her chest had constricted, her heart doing near-fatal somersaults inside her chest...

Then he'd touched her hair, burying his fingers in it and soothing at her scalp; that was something personal, something so blindingly out of character for Vincent. So why now?

Her mind reeling from her thoughts and the alcohol, she excused herself and left the room, hurrying underneath the mistletoe as though it threatened to strike again. She entered the bathroom and daubed at her flushed skin with water, neglecting to close the door behind her. The only light was from a candle stood on the side of the washbasin. She examined her reflection by the amber glow, mentally addressing the woman in the glass.

She shouldn't have allowed him to change things. She'd finally made peace with her past actions, moved forwards from the place she had been before.

Or had she? She found that the months since she had last seen Vincent had gone slowly, and her days seemed empty of his presence. She often talked herself out of picking up the phone and just calling him just so she could hear his voice, to re-confirm his existence. But she'd put the receiver back down and walked away more often than not.

"Are you alright Tifa?"

She started, turning abruptly to face the shadow in the doorway. Vincent's claret eyes shone out of the darkness.

"I… I'm fine." She lied, her fingers coming to tug at a stray strand of her hair.

"Are you sure? You seem bothered by something?" He shifted his weight onto his other leg, arms folded.

"I'm just a little tried I guess." The ambient candlelight conveyed a sense of intimacy, and she blushed a little, suddenly uncomfortable. She took the silence as an excuse to leave, to brush past him and escape downstairs from scrutiny.

She chose a seat by the fire, idly stroking Red XIII's flame coloured fur, his tail twitching from time to time as he snoozed. Shera's head rested affectionately on Cid's shoulder, watching Yuffie and Marlene's animated game of cards progress on the carpet. Vincent was back in his seat, and Tifa was trying not to show she was aware of his gaze flitting to her intermittently. She swallowed down her insecurity for as long as she could, until the opportunity for escape manifested itself in the form of Marlene's bed time. She jumped at the chance, seeing as Barrett was away with the fairies on the sofa.

Marlene had protested only mildly- it was a lot later than her usual bedtime, and unbeknownst to Tifa, she was brimming over with questions she wanted to ask. She launched herself into bed with surprising fervour, clutching her beloved bear in her arms. Tifa let out a sigh as she settled herself next to Marlene, propping herself up on her elbow, weariness setting in.

"So are you excited now?" Tifa asked, closing her eyes. The candle that had been their aid for the dark ascent up the stairs flickered at the bedside.

"Yes. But can I ask you something Tifa?" She asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. Tifa obliged to her request with a slight inclination of her head, terrified that she was going to ask whether or not Santa was real. "Do you love Vincent?"

"What?" Tifa was stunned, laughing a little, though her stomach knotted inside.

"Do you love Vincent?" She repeated her question resolutely.

"What makes you ask that Marlene?" Tifa's smile faded.

"I don't know. I guess it seems odd that you hardly talk, or make eye contact with each other. And I saw how shy you were when he kissed you." Tifa swallowed. Marlene's indignant stare reminded Tifa that she wasn't such a child for seven years old. There was no way she could lie to her.

"Can you keep a secret?" Marlene's face instantly brightened, nodding vigorously. "Vincent is... He has done so much for me, since Cloud died." She swallowed. It had gotten easier to forget about him, as the months slipped by, but it still hurt none the less. "I… I began to lean on him, perhaps a bit too much… and I don't think Vincent could stand it. I don't really know how to describe how I feel about him. Only that he makes me feel... safe."

"Safe _and_ happy?" Marlene was engrossed.

"Yes, I suppose. For a while at least. I just don't think I could make him happy; that is if we... I think he still blames himself for Cloud's death."

"It's always about Cloud, though isn't it?"

"What? How?"

"Cloud changed who you were. He stopped you seeing your friends, and he hurt you." Tifa sensed a spark of anger from within the young girl that made her smile with tenderness. "And even now he is gone he is still stopping you from being happy. Vincent drove him away, but you can't let him stop getting in the way of your happiness Tifa! You're both just afraid."

"How so?" Tifa was dumb struck by Marlene's revelation. She'd never thought she could have the capacity to summate her relationship with Vincent so accurately.

"He is afraid that you still love Cloud. And you are afraid that Vincent thinks you only love him, because you have no other choice." Tifa opened her mouth slightly, and then burst out laughing. Of course, that was exactly it!

"Yes!" Tifa wiped away a tear. Marlene took hold of her hand and squeezed it, speaking with a passionate defiance she could have only inherited from her father.

"Then tell him, Tif."

"But it's not that easy." She wished it could be, but with Vincent it was anything but. "I don't think he even feels the same."

"He does. And you know he does."

She wanted to believe that, she really did. But did she dare? Yet the more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. He had maintained a strict distance between them; it was fear that kept his desired in check. He feared she would only be using him, as a substitute for Cloud. When he weakened, then she would break his walls down. Yet when she had been herself, he sometimes let those walls down of his own accord. He was tender, almost affectionate, in his own way. And she remembered the things he once said to her; that when he looked at her, he saw something he could have.

She'd done nothing but think about him, every night of those four long months when she was away in Wutai. But no other conclusion had been made other than that she was obviously, undeniably, foolishly in love with Vincent Valentine.

What was stopping her now?

-0-

She'd kissed Marlene goodnight, silencing her protests with a promise that she would think it all over, and returned downstairs and entered the warmth of the living room. She realised that it was snowing again outside; it was a total whiteout, the only thing visible outside the windows being the occasional erratic flurry of snowflakes.

She sat by the fire, drowsiness setting in as the hour approached midnight. Both Shera and Yuffie had gone to bed; Nanaki was fast asleep, leaving Barrett, Cid, Vincent and herself. It wasn't long before Cid grunted a goodnight and made his way to bed, shortly followed by Barrett who had kissed her on the cheek to wish her a merry Christmas.

They were alone.

After a few moments silence, Vincent cleared his throat and leaned forwards in his seat, gazing at her, with something in his eyes Tifa couldn't place.

"You look tired." He said after a silence, massaging his forehead gently with his fingertips.

"I suppose I'd better go to bed. No doubt Marlene will have us up early tomorrow." She glanced over at the piles of presents protruding from beneath the Christmas tree. She stumbled to her feet and stretched her aching muscles, all the while Marlene's words running through her mind.

"Indeed she will." Vincent made to stand also. She was sleeping downstairs on the sofa, and so he would have to leave for his own room.

"I'll see you in the morning, then." Struck by a sudden urge, she stood before him, tearing her gaze away from the buttons of his shirt to his wary face. His pupils scanned her face, his body language guarded. "And Vincent?"

She smiled gently, her heart racing in her chest as she stood on tiptoe to place a delicate kiss on the side of his mouth. His lips parted in surprise. "Merry Christmas."

-0-

A/N: A few changes here and there to this one. Enjoy and as always, if you're new to this (I have seen more added story alerts) please leave feedback!


	15. The Gift

"_I read that independence was a lightness in your step; you walked away I felt so heavy at the start of every day." _

Johnny Flynn, Shore to Shore

**Chapter 14: A Gift**

Once in bed, Vincent found that sleep wasn't going to come as soon as he would have liked. In previous nights the sheets had brought his comfort—now they itched and chafed against suddenly sensitive skin. The darkness was too thick all of a sudden, penetrated in a rather sinister manner by the dull red glow of the alarm clock.

He couldn't say Tifa had overstepped any boundaries. She was a friend wishing him a merry Christmas with a chaste kiss. It had been innocent enough; she hadn't set out to embarrass him, or make him feel uncomfortable. But more resonating than that was that he had made no objection. There were no angry words exchanged, and no tears had ensued.

It had been his first meeting with Tifa since she had left for Wutai several months ago with Yuffie, and he had to admit he felt pleased at seeing her back to her old self. She was smiling a lot more, she was animated, and if he allowed himself to notice, her curves had returned, fleshing out her once narrowing frame.

He was only pleased, he kept telling himself, that she was healthy again.

Had she forgotten all about their uneasy relationship in the time she had been away? Part of him wanted to think that.

But overhearing a certain conversation had changed it all.

He'd only been in the next room, rinsing his face in the bathroom. Perhaps they hadn't heard him over the sounds of Cid and Barrett singing awfully harmonised Christmas songs, yet regardless, his mind had gone into overdrive.

His body's immediate reaction had been nausea; perhaps he feared Tifa's reaction, should she discover his overhearing, or maybe it was because even a child had noticed. How someone could tell all that from one day…

Was it that obvious? He ran a hand over his face in the darkness.

He had walked away before she discovered he was listening and returned downstairs. He had pretended that nothing had changed.

Then she had kissed him softly and sweetly on the side of the mouth, and he had let her walk away, quashing an overwhelming impulse to grasp her arm firmly and pull her close, run his fingers through her hair as he kissed her open mouth...

They lay on the floor in front of the fire, his insistent hands hitching up the fabric of her nightshirt, thighs encircling his waist tightly as his mouth tasted flesh... He explored every inch of her, and there was nobody who could disturb them, no-one to take this away…

…he bolted upright in bed, shocked awake by the reality of his dream. How long had he been asleep? The glare of the bedside alarm told him it was 4:30 am- a long sleep by his standards, yet still…. He fell back against his pillows, letting out a long huffed breath as he raked his fingers through his hair.

He often dreamt of her; though rarely like this. When he had first left Kalm, she was the subject of his nightmares. He would wake in cold sweat, her name on his lips in a silent scream.

His eyelids slid shut once more, trying to focus on his breathing to calm his still-racing heart. His mental diversion works, and he found he was drifting off to sleep again. He awoke refreshed an few hours later to the sounds of a waking household. Deciding he would do the tea rounds, he dressed and called a 'Merry Christmas' to everyone on the landing, taking the steps two at a time.

He entered into the living room where Nanaki was sleeping before the dead fire, to find Tifa curled up on the sofa, a blanket draped over her slender frame. He leant over her still form, features relaxed in sleep. The dancing Christmas lights cast a spectrum of shadows across her face, pallid in the gloom. Her fingers loosely clutched at the edges of the blanket.

Tenderly brushing a stray strand of her hair back from her face, he gazed freely upon the face of the woman who had somehow against all odds had somehow wormed her way into his heart.

"Tifa?" Vincent intoned softly, crouched by her side so his face was level with hers.

"Hm?" She stretched a little, though she didn't open her eyes. He felt a tug at one corner of his mouth.

"It's morning. Marlene will be down soon." He warned her, standing again. "You take sugar in your tea don't you?"

And so the hectic Christmas morning began. Everyone had been hastily established in the living room by an excitable Marlene, holding their respective beverage with bleary eyes. Tifa sat next to Vincent with her legs curled up underneath her, the blanket pulled up to her chin, bleary eyes watching Marlene select the first present from beneath the tree with appreciative amusement.

It was nice to see a child so excited by the festivities.

"This one is for you, Daddy!" Marlene passed a scruffily wrapped parcel to her father, who opened it to reveal a metal polishing kit. The tag read;

'To Rusty,

For your arm,

Cid',

Barrett rolled up the wrapping paper and lobbed it at the pilot's head. Cid gave a throaty laugh as he gulped down his cup of tea, deftly catching the paper ball and looking rather pleased with his agility at such an early hour. Cid had been otherwise thoughtful, no doubt from Shera's input, giving Tifa a set of pretty earrings, which she proclaimed to love and proceeded to wear at once.

Marlene was the main subject of gift giving however; Christmas was a time for the children to enjoy themselves; Yuffie certainly seemed to be doing just that, her giddiness on an obvious par with Marlene's. Tifa was laughing; something she had begun to do a lot more. Everyone was glad to see her in such high spirits, apparently having recovered from the shock Cloud's death.

Shera had been observing Tifa and Vincent since they had arrived, reading the signs, studying the tension between them. There was definitely _something_ there still, unchanged from when she had seen them together in Kalm. Only this time, the atmosphere was less oppressive; she could tell Vincent was relieved to find that Tifa's mood was less self-destructive, no longer so dependent on him.

Now only time would reveal whether or not one of them was brave enough to address their attraction, though Shera's money was on Tifa. She had learnt it the hard way that keeping silent only made the old wounds fail to heal. If they both ignored their feelings, well, they were both fools.

Fragile, broken fools.

Shera had outdone herself with dinner, or so everyone had commented. The sheer amount of food consumed resulted in the requirement for a post-dessert stroll, and so they took to the streets of Rocket, bundled up in coats and scarves. Tifa lagged behind the group, her arm entwined in Barrett's, making small talk. Shera, Yuffie and Marlene had gone ahead to the woods before them, Vincent and Nanaki preceding Tifa and Barrett, with Cid bringing up the rear, furiously attempting to light a cigarette.

Barrett's laughter at his expense proved too much for Cid, who then proceeded to launch a snowball at Barrett's broad back. With war on the verge of breaking out, Tifa jogged ahead, linking her arm through Vincent's. The montage of curses from behind them seemed to attract the attention of the other group members, who rushed back to join the fray, faces flushed with cold and glee.

Tifa chuckled to herself, looking back over her shoulder at the flurry of flailing arms and snowballs.

"Boys will be boys." She said, rolling her eyes, sharing a knowing glance with Vincent. His lips quirked into a small smile, visible over the top of the scarf he wore, given and lovingly made by Shera herself. Tifa too sported a new multi-coloured scarf with a matching hat.

"'Children', I think would have been a more adept term." He remarked, ducking out of the way of a stray missile.

They walked ahead for a while leaving the group behind, crunching through the days' fresh snowfall, their footprints snaking behind. Their meandering path brought them to the edge of a large pond, where a few ducks stood awkwardly on the frozen water, feathers plumped up around their necks. Tifa giggled as they slipped and slid across the surface, some eventually falling into the patch of water in the centre which had remained untouched by the frost.

"Tifa... I wanted to wait before giving you this, until I could get you alone." Vincent announced suddenly, his breath forming a mist before his face. She blinked snowflakes form her lashes, peering into his face curiously. He presented her with an envelope, her name written upon it in his neat flourishing handwriting. She furrowed her brow, perplexed, sliding her nail beneath the seal to reveal the folded document within. She glanced up at Vincent's expectant but worried face, before unfolding it carefully. She scanned it quickly, her mouth falling open.

"Vincent... Is this for real?" On the paper was an address for a building in Hartstow town, a small settlement she knew not to be far from Rocket town on the coast. It had her name at the bottom.

It was a deed.

Stapled to the back of it was a photograph of a handsome, picturesque, cliff top building, with peeling paintwork adding to the rather weathered looking exterior. A small bungalow set into the hillside, surrounded by heather, and backed by the skies.

"I was there a month ago, and I saw it was for sale. I know how you loved your old house... I thought you could make it your new start. So I went to auction and... I bought it." Tifa stared at him in disbelief. "You don't like it?"

"Vincent..." She struggled to find words. "It's... the best present I've ever had." She stammered her way through her sentence, staring hard at the paper, as though it would vanish any moment. "You have no idea what this means to me."

She gazed up into his eyes, and smiled, battling with the urge to throw her arms around his reluctant frame and squeeze him breathless.

Laughter sounded behind them, and Vincent shifted nervously. Tifa turned to see Cid and the group approaching them, pink-faced and exhilarated from their battle.

"Whatcha got there, Tif?" Yuffie asked, bounding over to Tifa side. Tifa gave Vincent a swift glance. He had turned a slight shade of pink, gazing hard at the pond. She imagined that he was wishing he could fall down into the hole in the centre, to spare him the ridicule.

"It's Vincent's Christmas present. He's bought me a new house." She said, her voice conveying some of the shock and disbelief that she still felt. Cid swore, taking the paper from Tifa's hands and glancing over it, Shera and Barrett leaning over his shoulders to read it. Barrett slapped Vincent on the back, sending him stumbling slightly.

"Didn' know you had it in ya Vince!" He boomed, his eyes shining, with something like pride.

"Leave him alone, you've embarrassed him enough already," Shera giggled, linking arms with Tifa. "Come on everyone, Ice skating on the lake!"

-0-

RE-EDITED just a little! Thanks for hanging in there guys, and welcome to the new readers! Thank you so much for your kind words and reviews.


	16. A New Year

**Help- I have done it again/ I have been here many times before**

**Hurt myself again today/ and the worst part is there's no-one else to blame**

_**Sia- Breathe me**_

15: A New Year

All too soon, the festivities came to a close. The few days following Christmas seemed to pass in an odd sort of blur for Tifa. Hours slipped by and she didn't know what she had been doing. She had been caught more than once staring off into space, unable to recollect what she had been thinking.

It had felt strange all of a sudden being in Vincent's company. She was overwhelmed with gratitude towards him, and yet that only served to induce further isolation. He shrank into himself as the days passed, taking part in few conversations and starting even less. She began to wonder if things could ever return to normal between them, if such had ever existed at all.

Yet there was still time to address those latent feelings, still on the surface if she acted soon enough. Yuffie seemed quite insistent that they all attend a grand party in Wutai to welcome the New Year. Tifa and Yuffie would be returning by airship anyway, so 'it made sense' they all come too.

"Whadaya say Vince?" Cid implored. Vincent became aware of all eyes on him suddenly. Tifa tried her best to look indifferent, though internally she wished with all her heart he would agree to return with them. She hadn't had a proper chance to thank him for his gift, and she still needed time to work up the courage.

"I..." He glanced up Tifa from beneath his lashes. She resolutely gazed down at her hands. "I have no other plans. I shall come with you." He saw her lips twitch from behind her hair. Yuffie danced in her seat, clearly excited by the prospect of prolonging the festivities.

"Brilliant! My Dad is throwing this huge party! Get ready for the GREATEST FIREWORKS EVER!"

Cid was glad of an excuse to get onto his beloved airplane, and asked Vincent to help with 'loadin' her up!' Vincent carried some of the luggage to the hanger, where he began to load it into the undercarriage before flight. Cid was whistling a Christmas jingle as he tinkered with the engine, his exposed legs twitching along to the tune. Vincent smirked.

"That was really somethin' Vince... What you did for Tifa." Cid's voice was muffled, a screw pinched between his lips as he worked. "What made ya think of that?"

"I'm not sure. She needs to start again, somewhere new. Make her own place, her own memories." Vincent slammed the hatch shut, and then leant back against the craft.

"Well, you're right there, sunshine." Cid scrambled out from beneath the plane, getting to his feet and cracking his spine as he stretched. "You sure know how to win the ladies, Vince." He patted his shoulder. "Just don't give her false hope. I mean it, don't break her heart, or I'll break that pretty face o' yours."

"I'll bear that in mind, Thank you." Vincent said coolly.

-0-

The eve of the grand party and the New Year found Tifa trying on dresses whilst Yuffie danced around her bedroom, a popular Wutaiin pop song blaring out of the stereo.

"Yuffie! Are you listening to me? Red or black?" She scrutinised herself in the full-length mirror. The cherry-red fabric was beautiful, yes, but it just didn't look right. Too bright against her forever-pale skin, it washed her of colour.

"Hmmmm, try on the black, again?" Yuffie suggested.

Dutifully she wriggled out of the red dress and then tugged the black one over her head. Tying the bow at the back and pulling a strange face at her reflection, she noted that this was far more elegant compared with the red dress, though neither of them struck her as being _the_ dress she was hoping for.

"You know something, Tifa? This dress isn't doing it for me either," Tifa's shoulders slumped as the young ninja confirmed her suspicions. She really wanted to make an effort, to look her best. "Hey! Chin up! I think I know what I've got in my magical wardrobe that might just be what you need to succeed!"

"Succeed?" Tifa questioned, as Yuffie disappeared into her wardrobe, the black dress now discarded. Tifa scrutinised her reflection in the mirror once more, as Yuffie rummaged in the racks.

"Succeed at bagging Vincent, of course! It's gotta be tonight Tif!" Yuffie hollered dramatically. "Ta-da!" Tifa turned, Yuffie revealing her haul with a huge grin. A plunging, backless dove-grey dress made of the finest silk. Tifa's mouth fell open.

"Are you kidding? Yuffie I can't wear this!" Then again, it was pretty spectacular. "If I spilt anything on it I'd have to sell my new house just to pay for it!" She ran her hands over the fabric, tilting her head to one side as she tried to imagine herself in it.

"Naaa, I'll never wear it. Consider it an extra Christmas present or something." Her eyes sparkled. "Try it on!" She insisted, placing it in her hands.

Tifa obliged whilst spluttering her thanks, taking it from Yuffie's hands and slipping it over her head, the material whispering sensuously over her curves, settling weightlessly upon her form. It fell to hug her waist perfectly, draping gracefully at the back, revealing the curve of her spine. Yuffie sighed.

"It's perfect."

-0-

The city was a hive of activity. Everywhere people were dancing, singing and laughing. Vincent's senses were under constant battery as he weaved his way through the crowds.

A plethora of aromas assaulted his senses; meat sizzled in woks, noodles were tossed in oil and vegetables, beer and rice wine flowed freely. All this could only just mask the scent of methane from the burners the stall vendors used to heat their woks and pans and grills. Bottles chinked, chopsticks and cooking implements clicked, and fires popped and crackled over the general hustle bustle and chatter of the market districts.

Yuffie had said to meet in the main prayer hall of the city's pagoda, where their group had been exclusively invited.

The Pagoda itself was preceded by grand imperial gardens, the entrance flanked by towering red gate posts with carvings of golden dragons and fish etched in the ancient wood. Vast blossom trees, barren of their vegetation at this time of year, stood crooked over ornamental ponds, inhabited by a lazy spectrum of carp. Their desolate branches were threaded with strings of lanterns and banners, fluttering in the light wind.

He crossed the gardens at a leisurely pace, appreciating the surroundings before entering the pagoda. There he found Yuffie deep in animated conversation with her Father, and an extremely beautiful woman Vincent had never seen before. It was only as he approached them, only as he looked into the woman's face, that he realised the woman was Tifa. He was unable to maintain a dismissive expression, all too aware that Yuffie was sniggering to his left. Her father smiled and pulled her to one side, despite her protests.

She gazed into his shirt with flushes cheeks, all too aware, as he was, that he was gawking at her; hair elegantly twisted at the nape of her neck, a few strands escaping to softly frame her face. Her makeup was subtle, her jewellery discrete, which was all but made up for by the dress. Her curves were excellently accentuated, he struggled not to notice.

"You look..." He struggled for words. "Wonderful." Her colour deepened.

"Thank you." She murmured, daring to look up into his eyes. The silence hung between them for a few moments, blaringly apparent in a room buzzing with multiple conversations, music and laughter.

Vincent became aware that they were stood in the centre of what appeared to be the dance floor; Yuffie's family were scattered around the perimeter of the room, Cid and Shera among them, though they showed no signs of coming to his rescue. A few couples were dancing together around them, and it became increasingly uncomfortable, stood static amidst all of the activity.

As the notes of the final song faded away, a new one began; Piano, female vocals, familiar words. The gentle sound of the cello.

Tifa's song.

She looked up into his face on recognising the gentle melody. He noted the look of mild panic in her face as she tried to maintain her composure, her amber eyes shining intensely out of the dimness. Old memories from a time that felt like years ago, resurfaced; Confusion, loss, bitterness and dependence all centred around and dependant on him.

He offered her his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

After a moment, in which she gazed at him in mild surprise, she obliged. She joined her hand with his, her other coming to rest upon his shoulder.

Would it always come back to this, he wondered. Was there no way of moving forward—of getting away from the past with those old emotions, stirring everything up—moving forward from the anger and the pain to a point where there was only forgiveness?

Tifa's breath caught in her throat, and she lowered her face, studying the buttons at his shirt collar. She had been hiding away for so long, and she was tired of it. She wanted Vincent to hold her, if not just be her friend, But her foolishness prevented that. She couldn't just keep things the way they were—comfortable and static—she had to try and push it to the next level, a level which they had never been to before. They weren't strong enough, between them to reach it.

Yuffie's loaned dress had worked, at least. He had asked her to dance, apparently spellbound, and there they were, revolving slowly together, unaware that there was no one else on the dance floor, and that Shera was smiling knowingly to herself as she watched.

The words washed over her, her mind moving slowly to form words, words which she desperately wanted Vincent to hear, to understand. He _must_ understand.

Then soon, too soon, the song was over. She pulled away from him, movements distended and jerky, gazes held with a barely present strength. One wrong work, one misplaced gesture, and it would all fall apart. Neither of them spoke.

"Not interrupting' are we?" Cid laughed, coming to a stop beside them, a grinning Shera on his arm. Tifa smiled weakly.

"Excuse me."

Vincent's hand gripped hers tightly for a moment, reminding her only briefly as she released it that they had held on so long after the music had stopped. Still unsure of her own movements and the strength her limbs possessed, she managed to make her way towards the entrance, sounds falling against her ears like flies against a window. She couldn't focus. Stepping out into the cool night air, she sucked it in thirstily, hoping it would awaken some clarity within her.

What was happening? The evening was turning out stranger and stranger as it went on.

She rubbed at her arms and drifted towards the pond, watching carp gliding idly beneath the surface of the black water. She gazed up at the moon, a huge yellow crescent against the dark backdrop of the heavens. The black sky was dotted with crystal clear stars, their reflections rippling in the surface of the water.

"Are you alright, Tifa?" Shera arrived at her side, touching her arm delicately.

"I think so." She answered despondently.

"You seem a little… distant."

She licked her lips. She could trust Shera, if no-one else. "It's just overwhelming... trying to figure out what to say. I want so badly to be honest, and yet… I worry what he will think of me if I am."

Shera wrapped an arm around Tifa's shoulders. "My Mother always told me if it's meant to be, then it'll happen, no matter what. Just try to stay strong."

"I think I need a walk..." Tifa rubbed at her temples. Her head was beginning to throb, an amalgamation of alcohol, music, and Vincent.

"Ah! Vincent," Shera exclaimed as Vincent himself entered into the gardens, taking him by the upper arm and steering him in Tifa's direction. "Would you mind walking with Tifa,_ I_ _would_, but I promised Yuffie I'd dance with her."

Her pleading was almost entirely credible, Tifa acknowledged with a hidden smile. Vincent, the embodiment of discomfort, raised his eyes to meet Tifa's and inclined his head. Shera left them alone to return to the party, giving Tifa an encouraging smile from over her shoulder.

Not wanting to expose Shera's motives, she directed her steps towards the main street, taking a leisurely pace, aware of Vincent wavering before following. His strides caught up with hers, and he offered her his arm, which she took. She feared that if she didn't have something, someone, to lean on, she would surely stumble.

She needed all of the support she could get.

They spoke very little. Tifa's tongue was thick in her mouth, heavy with the words that she wanted to say, but could not. She was focussed on trying not to think about anything that would bring emotions so tightly linked with their recent past broiling to the surface, as they once had. She wanted to show him she was stronger now, and yet so far she had made a poor case for herself. _Damn it, Tifa, what has Cloud reduced you to?- A whimpering mess who can't even think for herself anymore._

Unaware of where their wanderings were leading, she raised her head to view their surroundings: the house that she and Yuffie shared, on the Eastern side of the palace grounds.

"You seem tired. Perhaps you should lie down for a little while." He raised his hand before she could protest. "It is still early. I will wake you before the celebrations."

They were her bedroom door now, and she performed her actions almost automatically; sliding the screen door open, stepping inside, and slipping in shut, the wood whispering in the carefully crafted grooves in the frame. She sank heavily into the cushioned stool at her dressing table, resting her heated forehead in her cool palm. Then there was Vincent's hand on her shoulder. Her skin tingled.

"Tifa, about tonight..." He began, his fingers moving to rest on her neck. His words settled dread in her stomach, though his touch turned the weight to flitting butterflies. "I do not wish for you to be upset anymore."

"I'm not upset." She protested weakly, a shake of her head loosening a few of her carefully constructed curls. The entangled themselves with his pale fingers.

"You are not reminded of Cloud when you hear that song?" He appeared mystified. With a heavy sigh she stood to face him, seizing a sudden burst of courage by taking his hand in hers before it could fall to his side.

"No. At first it meant nothing really, but… Vincent, now it makes me think of us. I want you to be my friend and... Sometimes I want you to be more than that. I just… I'm so scared I will hurt you, and ruin it all and then—we can't even be friends."

Vincent's face was unreadable. She bit down on her lip, the words she had lined up in her mind to follow suddenly gone. She had to say something, _anything_, to repair any damage. But nothing came.

"Tifa... I am your friend." He muttered thickly, eyes cast down, unfocused. Her heart was racing in her chest.

"I know that… but you know I want more than your friendship…"Her voice is almost failing, yet she chokes down her racing heart. _I want you, Vincent._

"I want…"

_Say it! _

"I want you."

They had never reached this point together before. She had never seen him so exposed and yet so calm. It had always been one without the other. There was no anger in his eyes, no defences that she could see set up against her. It was almost too easy to just lean forward and let her lips touch tenderly against his mouth. It's a relief when he lets out a steady breath against her cheek, and she feels empowered, allows her lips to brush against his cheek, his jaw, reaching the tender flesh at his neck. After what seems like an eternity, his arms envelop her waist, and she almost sighs out loud, as he returns her kiss, first uncertainly, then with a little more daring, along her collar bone, up to her waiting open mouth. His tongue glides over hers, and she moans against him unashamedly.

Then his hands are on her shoulders, forcefully pushing the fabric of her dress away, and she gasps at the shock of cool air on her skin. Then her fingers fumble desperately with the too-many buttons of his shirt, to reveal his chest, his torso. Then her mind goes tantalisingly blank, as she becomes pressed intoxicatingly hard between the cool matting of the floor, and Vincent.

-0-

Tifa stirred from her slumber, suddenly and painfully becoming aware that she was alone. She pulled herself upright slowly, muscles failing to cooperate, her mind fuzzy. A survey of the room for evidence, proof, that tonight had been real proved inconclusive; Sure, her dress lay in the place where she had stepped out of it. But there was no trace of Vincent in the room.

Her clock told her it was 11:45pm; he'd promised to wake her before the celebrations.

Unsure of how to feel, suddenly angry with herself for being so weak, she pulled her dress back on: A second skin she would hide beneath. She stepped outside, her mind racing ahead of her footsteps as she made her solitary way back to the party. What had happened? She tried to recall the procession of events. A dress, a dance, and then she had tried to talk, hadn't finished, kissed him...

Then he had kissed her back. What did it mean? Perhaps, she thought pessimistically, that was all their struggle had been amounting to all along. But she knew better of Vincent to believe it was purely a channel for a secret infatuation. There had to be a reason why, after all the distance they had overcome to be here tonight, that he was no longer here.

Was he ashamed? Was he shy or afraid? All of these things she considered as she made her way back to the pagoda, unable to believe that he might just have forgotten to wake her- might have returned to the party himself, in order that people were not suspicious…

She couldn't make herself believe it.

The others were there, enjoying themselves, suitably drunk, and cheerful. And though she tried to smile, she could feel her expression crumble before she could even attempt to assemble a facade. She took a few deep breaths, before she approached them.

"Hey Tifa, we wondered where you'd got to." Cid winked. She swallowed.

"Have you seen Vincent?" She asked, scanning the room with worried eyes, though it remained devoid of his presence. It was as she feared, then.

Cid words only painfully confirmed it. "No, we thought he was with you..."

"He was..." She felt her composure slipping away before her. And as the fireworks erupted above the gardens, illuminating everything with a vast array of magnificent colours, Tifa's tears shone on her cheeks as she walked away from the party, unable to pretend anymore.

They didn't find Vincent, in the end.

-0-

**Author's note: Part of me wanted to add more to the love scene after all these years, yet it still caused a drop in my belly as I read it. That, along with the fact that less is more, made me decide to leave it alone. Thank you so much to people who are reviewing, it really does mean a lot.**


	17. Moving Forward

Chapter 16: Moving Forward

It felt like this had been all he had ever wanted.

…Such a slender body, her skin so smooth beneath wandering fingertips. Her breath was hot against his neck, the gentle sound of her moans slowly intoxicating his mind…

And all it had taken was one word to make him decide he could never see her again.

One slip, and she had uttered it; a foul word, poison to his weakened mind.

Maybe it was the alcohol, the night, the sex... Whatever it was-he didn't care.

She had cried out, he had groaned into her neck, and they had lay still, time lapsing by. She was beautiful; curved neck, round breasts, slender waist, and toned thighs, still trembling around him.

Then, she whispered his name.

_Cloud._

If she was aware of her mistake, she didn't show any sign. He froze, mind and body suddenly as cold and hard as ice. Of course, he could not hope to replace him. He could not hope to steal his position in Tifa's heart.

Jaw set and hands trembling, he had lifted his weight from her dozing form, covered her with a blanket, before dressing and leaving silently. his mind was both reeling, and terrifyingly blank.

What had he done? It had all happened so fast; the dance, the walk, the kiss…

He was lost in the Wutai plains when all of a sudden the cacophony of the fireworks could be heard, their booming and exploding ricocheting in the mountains.

It made his think of the tale of an angry ghost, who would wail and scream in the mountains to keep people from disturbing the final resting place of her lover, who had perished there. He dismissed the notion with a shiver, though the screams of the rockets, and the screeching of the cartwheels kept it alive.

He thought of Tifa, too, despite trying not to; he had promised to wake her before the fireworks. If she hadn't woken earlier, she would be awake now; angry and confused. He shook his head bitterly.

She wasn't the only one.

-0-

The cottage was nestled into a slate-grey, rocky hillside, projecting from the heather-covered cliff face. Ivy had begun to creep up the side of the house, entwining around the window frames, and the chimney. It was quaint, a place that embodied the word 'home'.

She sighed.

Here she was making a new start, _again_, on her own. Vincent had remained elusive and distant since they had spent New Year's Eve together. His unfounded rejection had cut her deep; she didn't bother to try calling him up, to find answers to the burning questions she harboured in her breast. She was so angry; she didn't even want to dwell on him for any amount of time.

But she still had dreams; he was always there, speechless and cold, the memory of the culmination of their passions a thorn twisting in her side. She would wake with hot tears fresh on her cheeks, unable to prevent the weight of betrayal and anger from settling in her gut.

She had wanted to say so much, but instead, they had both tumbled into the deep end blindly, fallen in before they could set themselves right. Vincent was doing what he had always done; hiding away from reality as though what it presented was too ugly to want.

She had had enough. She couldn't- _Wouldn't_- spend her life chasing after someone who didn't want to be chased. It was in Wutai, a few days into the new year with no sign of Vincent, she had decided to turn her back on him. Jaw clenched, fist wrapped tightly around the gift he had bestowed upon her not a week earlier, she had ridden an airship with her few belongings to Hartstow.

Strands of hair were plucked at by the blustery sea breeze, curling around her face, entwining in her fingers as she raised them to pull her hair aside. She gritted her teeth as she hoisted her pack higher on her shoulder, taking resolute steps up to the front door. The key she had been entrusted with at the local authority office was of the old fashioned metal type. It scraped and screeched into the lock, the heavy door swinging open with creaking hinges, stiff from disuse, to reveal the interior of her new house to her for the first time.

Newly plastered walls at least, and the floors had been previously stripped and stained anew. She could smell white spirit and paint still. She allowed her burdens to fall to the floor where she stood, closing the door behind her slowly, gazing at the large open space of her empty house. The stairs were directly facing her, and then the living room and kitchen sprawled to the left and right respectively. She liked the symmetrical layout of the ground floor, its open feeling, the spaciousness.

On further inspection she found several boxes set upon the scrubbed wooden table, where she had specified they be left. With a sigh, she began to tear open the cardboard flaps, emptying her things from the box labelled 'Kitchen stuff.'

She remembered Barrett had been furious. She'd tried to make her excuses for him, not wholly believing them herself.

_"Goddamn it Tifa, he's turnin' into the very person he was try'n ta save you from!" _

She hadn't understood what he had meant at first; but as the days went by, her devastation shifted to bitterness.

Then she became angry.

Vincent was becoming that which he had spoken so strongly against. Her relationship with Cloud had left her confidence shattered, had broken her down into a fragile, needy creature. It was being to look like she would turn back, after all the progress she had made- _they_ had made together. He had been a better man, in her eyes. She still wanted to believe it too, though as they days went by, she began to lose faith.

_"When I see him I'm gunna rip him a new a**hole! He can't treat you this way, Tif. The stubborn bastard doesn't know what he got."_ Barrett was resolute on that, in spite of her pleading. Hot headed to the last second, yet she could hardly fault him for his consistency.

Stubborn was indeed the best way to describe it, she mused as she filled the kettle and slammed it down onto the hob to boil, running her hands through her hair in frustration. If _she_ saw him now, she would be sorely tempted to hurt him herself.

The kitchen was beginning to feel a little more like home; the novelty clock was in place, the mugs set on their hooks lining the wall, her decorative knick knacks arranged on the work surfaces.

She moved on to the living room.

The previous owners had left an antique-looking leather studded sofa, which she was actually quite pleased with. She began to unpack boxes containing her ornaments and picture frames, a hammer and some nails at hand to mount them. She came across a photograph of the whole Avalanche group; Cloud and herself in the centre, surrounded by the group, Vincent's imposing form in the background. Looking at it now, she could almost imagine his eyes boring into her back.

She placed the photograph face down on the table, her throat constricting. She massaged her neck with her fingertips fruitlessly, moving to the window to gaze out over the landscape. The sea of purple heather rippled in the breeze, waves crashing against the rocky cliff face below. She exhaled slowly, hot tears pulsing down her cheeks.

She recalled how happy she had been, when Vincent had presented her with the deed for this place. She had allowed herself to think that maybe he would come and stay, maybe help out with decorating. Being the gentleman that he was, he would have offered. And she would have been making two cups of tea instead of one, and smiling instead of gazing angrily out of the window, and maybe laughing instead of crying. She wiped away her tears furiously.

"Fuck you, Vincent." She whispered, turning away from the view, and throwing herself back into unpacking.

-0-

Tifa sank deeper into the water, watching the shadows flicker on the walls in the candlelight. The water was a little hotter than she was used to, her skin turning pink instantly as she submerged her body, limbs that ached from the toils of unpacking screaming with relief.

She took a mouthful of wine, swilling it around her tongue before swallowing. Submerging herself totally, the unfamiliar song of her house morphed into a distorted murmur. The ceiling rippled above her as she held her breath. Everything stood still, though her thudding heartbeat resounded in her ears. She released her breath, and then resurfaced. Her forearms, amber in the light from the candle, now bore white marks, traces of her scars. Her abdomen had healed again fully, though she had noticed in examinations of her reflection that the scar was a lot more distinct than before.

The sea sounded rough tonight; it battered relentlessly against the cliffs, the sound serving to soothe her. She stepped out of the bath, stepping lightly across her landing and into her bedroom, leaving a trail of water droplets behind. She gazed at her reflection, her features illuminated dimly in the unfamiliar looking glass.

Why had Vincent left? She couldn't think of anything she had done. But then again she was past blaming herself, past saying sorry for every little thing she did. She regretted nothing; she was old enough now, strong enough, to accept the consequences of her actions. Perhaps he was the one with regrets. She knew he carried with him the shouldered blame of many men, when she fell for him. Hell, _that_ was probably what made her feel that she could rely on him in the first place. But perhaps she had been wrong to think that.

She pulled on her robe, seating herself before the mirror to begin the task of combing out her almost waist-length hair. Behind her in the mirror, she could see the hazy outline of the grey dress, draped across the foot of her yet unmade bed. She remembered Vincent's face, when he had seen her that night. It had been lying on the floor, the fabric the colour of moonlight, when she had woken to find him gone.

She had tried so hard to pretend that nothing had happened, that she knew no reasons for his disappearance. She had thought it was perhaps more sinister; had he hurt himself, was he safe? But she realised she knew him better than she thought.

She'd shown her friends too much, left herself vulnerable before them that night. They had to know that _something_ had been said, that something had happened, to warrant his sudden departure. She dared not speak of it out loud, for fear of their reaction. Part of her wanted to believe he would come back, to tell her it had been a misunderstanding, that he loved her...

But it had never come.

She awoke early the following morning. The sea had calmed, a gentle rushing as the water eased up the sands of the bay, then retreated. She dressed, wrapping herself up in multiple layers to keep out the harsh sea winds; scarf, coat, gloves, hat. She left the house and began to walk parallel with the cliffs, down the steep footpath towards the beach.

A small bay with silver-grey sands, littered with smooth, round pebbles. Her boots left sharp imprints in the wet sand as she walked along the shore, the sea breeze sending her hair wild about her face. Approaching the water's edge, she paused, the small waves engulfing the soles of her shoes, before receding, covering her shoes, receding...

"Good morning." A man addressed her from behind, startling her. She turned sharply to face him, conscious that she had in fact been unaware of him for quite some time.

"I'm sorry, good morning!" She laughed, tucking her stray hair behind her ears. The young man chuckled. He had a good natured face, with a little stubble, warm green eyes and olive skin. He wore a long jacket, and Tifa noticed he was quite tall, though he rested on one leg, a dog's lead swinging in his hand.

On spotting this, Tifa heard a bark in close proximity. A sodden grey-coloured creature loped across the sands, coming to an abrupt stop and shaking vigorously before them both. Its flopping ears slapped against its head. Tifa laughed, raising her hands in vain against the spray of sea water.

"C'mere Sasha, you stupid dog." He lunged for her collar, but she anticipated him, bounding off ahead of them. "Sorry about that..." Tifa noted he blushed, his hand finding the back of his head. A familiar habit, she noted, her smile faltering slightly.

"It's alright..." She gazed down at the sand where the dog's footprints remained, dotted around their static position.

"Are you ok?" He asked, gazing into her face. She admired the mixed hues in his eyes, which his proximity awarded her.

"Yes, I was just thinking."

"Sorry to have interrupted. But Sasha found this; I don't know whether it's yours..." He opened his palm; one of her earrings that Shera had given to her for Christmas glittered there. She gasped and took it from his palm, gazing at it in wonder.

"Thank you! It must have been loose when I... Thank you." She placed it in her pocket. Her saviour was currently panting at her masters' side, tongue lolling out; though Tifa thought she seemed rather pleased with herself. She raised her open palm, and the dog stepped forward, butting her snout against Tifa's fingers.

"I'm Greg." He laughed a little. "Um... I don't normally do this, but... Would you like to go somewhere and dry off? Maybe get a coffee..?"

"I..." She stared at him, young, shy, innocent, and awaiting her reply. She wasn't ready for this yet.

"I'm sorry, I can't..." His smile fell as she turned and hurriedly walked away from him, back towards her hilltop climb, back to her unforeseen home. She wiped her tears away.

She was still healing. Not yet quite ready to let go of something she desperately wanted to hold onto, to believe it could still happen. And every day, she woke with renewed hope; every letter, every ring of the phone, knock at her door, could be him. But as the weeks passed, it never was.

She felt grateful for Shera living so close by, in Rocket. They made the trip to each other's homes once a week at least, and Tifa found herself opening up. She blurted out one day that she wished she hadn't hoped for something to happen between them, if this was the ultimate conclusion. Shera had probed a little further in her questioning, and the whole story tumbled out; the awkwardness at first between them, the night they had spent together in Wutai… her regrets, spilled between bouts of tears.

She slumped on her bed, face buried in her pillow, her shoulders heaving with profound sobs. _Why would you wish this on someone, Vincent, when you have spent so long mourning a woman who did the same to you? _She didn't pretend to know the ins and outs of Vincent's past, yet it didn't take an expert to see that he had been hurt before.

She screamed in exasperation. She had loved, had been hurt just the same. She had been cautious too, for fear of getting her only just-healed heart broken again. She'd tried and tried to get him to open up; perhaps a little _too_ prematurely at times. But she felt that they'd finally gotten somewhere, with Vincent admitting his feelings, by way of his actions. Perhaps she had been wrong to think that. All it had taken was a single lapse in self-control, and it had all been blown out into the open.

It was too late to wish things had turn out differently. It was too late to take back things she had said or done. She knew she would just have to get up, and get on, without Vincent in her life.

Vincent was gone.

-0-

Author's note: The opening exert was originally at the end of this story, but I felt that putting it at the start of this chapter would answer some questions as to Vincent's motivation for deserting Tifa earlier on.

Might re-write Flesh to the Bones next. Had a read-through the other day—it needs some work doing…


	18. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Chapter 17: One step forward, Two steps back.

She awoke early most mornings. Finding she was idle and yet possessed a whole-hearted desire not to stagnate in her cliff top house, she started running. She would wake, dress according to the weather, and put in her earphones with the music on maximum volume. She established a route, looping down the path into the village and back toward the beach, rather than tackle the steep stair set in the Cliffside.

She hadn't found any other activity in the form of exercise since she had left Wutai to keep up her fitness, though she vowed to herself she would never let herself decline as low as she had been in Kalm.

She sometimes saw Greg, when their respective walking times coincided. She would smile apologetically, slightly embarrassed when recalling her behaviour upon their first meeting. Sometimes, she thought he might have wanted speak; his gaze would meet hers, or he would raise his hand in greeting, even take a step towards her. But she would block him out, and continue on in the opposite direction.

She ran barefoot, leaving her shoes on the rocks at the sea wall; sometimes she ran along the dry sand, sometimes along the water's edge. When she reached the end of the bay, breaths coming rapid and laboured, she would perch on a rock to rest, feet dangling idly in the cool water.

There, she would sit and think, considering scenario after scenario after scenario. But nothing seemed to add up. What was she doing here? Shouldn't she be out looking for him? Would that be what it took?—and if she did go, then what would she find; A Vincent who was hesitant, indecisive, closed, though still happy to see her. Maybe he had made up his mind that he didn't want anything to do with her, and that running away from it had been the easiest, most selfish option.

There was no route that stood out as being the easy one, nor the obvious, least complicated; least likely to hurt either of them. So instead, she chose not to act. Some days brought with them fresh paranoia, others new hope, some even rage. At its worst, she felt nothing but despair.

It was on one of these days that she passed Greg again, on the return leg of her morning run. It was earlier than usual; she had been unable to sleep at all, and so the sun was just cresting the hills behind her when her feet touched the frigid sands, the tide having only recently retreated.

"You're up early." He greeted her with warmth. She suppressed a wave of guilt.

"I couldn't sleep." She found herself saying. She became conscious of her sweat, glistening on her forehead, dark triangles marking her shirt. And in her attempt to hide her discomfort, she noticed the absence of Greg's usual hairy companion.

"Where is Sasha?" She inquired, glancing along the length of the beach, the show of curiosity serving to mask her discomfort.

"She… was still asleep when I went out. I just felt like I had to come to the beach…" She met his gaze, aware of the sparkle in his beautiful irises. It woke a raging defiance within her.

"You might have run into me." She ventured, stepping a little closer towards him. His breath rose in a light mist before his face, though it did little to mask his surprise at her proximity.

"I always hope to see you again…" He whispered. "But you always never seem to notice me… You were the beautiful girl with the sad eyes, and the lost earring… I never caught your name." His cheeks were flushed, and her heart swelled at his words, life returning to the overworked muscle at last. It warmed her from within, to feel wanted, desired even. It was a shame that she couldn't see the damage that was about to be done.

"My name is Tifa." She outstretched her hand, and he took it. She discovered she wasn't the only one, who was trying to hide their sweat.

She didn't know why she had asked him to come; trying to think of any one particular reason was like chasing leaves in the wind. Each time she thought she had figured it out, the reason was whisked away from her by the ever-consistent tumult of her thoughts.

She was aware of his silent gaze on her back as she shut her front door, all too sensitive to the fact of how interested her eyes were when he removed his coat in her hallway. The thick silence amplified the tension that had been allowed to settle between them. There was no breeze, no raging sea that could offer a gentle background hum, something to fill the void of quiet. And as he turned to face her, she knew. She knew what she was going to do.

And she would regret it later.

Her mind went blank as she became pressed against her kitchen wall, his hands slipping up her shirt, skimming sweat-cooled skin. He undressed her quickly, and skilfully. His hands caressed her skin, leaving her breathless and unable to resist his wandering fingertips. Then she fell against him, begging him silently to give her what they had both been waiting for.

Sex was a strange thing, she recalled thinking; it was almost _too_ easy to push everything else aside and give over to the chemical reactions firing from synapses in her brain, conducting her body like an orchestra. She was no more in control of it than she was of the sea outside.

Nothing was as easy afterwards though; awkward silences and shyness that had long been discarded, returning with abandon.

She sobbed a little to herself, though he took it as a moan of pleasure, pressing harder against her. It felt good to give in, she thought, good to simply acknowledge attraction, and act upon it. Such a simple act, and yet it had meant everything with _him_.

All too quickly, it was over. She cried her release into his hair, gripping it between her fingers, her thighs trembling around his waist, her spine tingling at the cold of the wall at her back. He let her down gently, though she stayed close, leaning into his arms in an awkward embrace with no true feeling, before he pulled away.

"Are you alright?" He asked, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek, a tender action that she had not expected. And she knew she was going to cry.

"I'm sorry…" She whispered, voice thick with tears. "I shouldn't have…"

"Tifa, I know there is someone else." He rebuttoned his pants, and she watched him, reaching for her clothes, suddenly ashamed. She was weak, taking advantage of the fact that someone wanted her; trying to smother her memories, because they were trying to choke her.

Then were both dressed once more, stood in her hallway. It all felt so wrong.

"Please go." She whispered, her voice faltering. He nodded slowly. She averted her face and closed her eyes; the snap of the door closing sent a sudden blast of cool air inside.

Tifa stumbled into the kitchen and vomited violently into the sink, hands shaking as she gripped the edge of the worktop.

Would it have been the same with Vincent, had he stayed?

Was that why he had chosen to leave, before she had woken, afraid to face the silence; Terrified to acknowledge the truth, choosing to run rather than to confront her.

She suddenly longed for the old days of doubt, and discomfort. Then, she'd had Vincent to herself. Since those days, she had crossed the final barrier, jumped over the line that he had drawn. She had driven him away. He had finally opened up to her, told her his fears of losing her, yet as obvious as it seemed, she couldn't fathom what he truly meant. _He_ had left: she had not been lost.

She had offered herself to him, and like the fruit of temptation from which before he had taken a few reluctant bites, he had devoured her completely, waking to find a bitter after-taste in his mouth.

In the bath, she had scrubbed hard at her skin, as if trying to erase any impressions of Gregg's fingertips, to remove the phantom sensation of his lips on her body. She was consumed by guilt, rage, and disgust. Her reflection seemed to judge her somehow, as she scrutinised it that night. Her skin seemed to crawl, still marred by his touch.

Yet she pitied him. It wasn't his fault, or his problem. It had been her decision, to invite him in, with the clear intention of letting him take from her what she was willing to give.

Had that been the case with Vincent? Did he experience the same guilt, the same disgust as she did now? What was it about her that he was running from?

She exhaled onto the glass, raising her fingers to the condensation.

"Why?"She whispered, her breath condensing on the mirror, so she could no longer see her face, that treacherous visage of a woman who seemed to break everything she touched, and ruin any chance at love that passed her by.

She dressed and left the house, with the intention of going to the train station, dialling Shera's number as she walked. The PHS was cool against her cheek as she listened to the dial tone.

"It's Tifa," She said unnecessarily, her breath a fine mist in the air as she spoke. "Would you mind if I came to see you? And if it's not too much trouble, could I stay the night?" She felt like she was being a little rude, though there was no desire within her to stay in that house tonight. It was beginning to seem like a poisoned gift, a Trojan horse, releasing doubt and sin into the rooms.

"Um…." Shera was hesitating, for some reason or another. "Oh, sure, sure, is something wrong?"

"It's… I made a mistake Shera. I slept with Gregg." The words were like acid, blistering her lips and stinging the raw flesh. Saying it out loud ground the salt deeper into the wound.

In the background, she heard a chair scrape back and a door slam, punctuated by a good few curse words courtesy of Cid. The line was still for a moment, before Shera released a steady sigh.

"Tifa… Vincent was just here. We were… trying to talk sense into him… and I think… he heard you."

Tifa's head began to spin, and her hand shook violently.

"Tifa, are you there?" Shera probed after receiving no answer.

"I… I think I'm going to be sick."

-0-

The next few days passed in a haze. She slept restlessly, yet couldn't bring herself to get up before noon. She only forced herself to eat, because she knew what a wreck she would become if she didn't, despite the fact that for the first few days, everything that touched her stomach bounced, and she spent its entirety huddled over in the bathroom, her body convulsing with waves of nausea and cold shivers.

It made her sick in the metaphorical sense as well as the literal, she thought with a sour smirk, that the day she had tried to forget about Vincent was the day he was going to come back.

Wiping her mouth with the back of a shaking hand, she cried hot angry tears, laughing resentfully about how shit everything was turning out. All she had ever done wrong was to wear her heart on her sleeve; her friends had always said she would get hurt, but she never knew it could hurt like this.

Yet there just didn't seem to be any alternative.

There was just no other way that it could be, or at least not that she could see from where she was sitting, slumped against the wall of the bathroom, not daring to stray too far lest the waves of nausea catch her unawares.

She finally found the strength to drift about the house, feeling strangely like a ghost, a shadow behind the windows; if someone should look up at her lonely house, they would see a shell of a woman with hollow eyes staring mournfully back.

She spent hours trying to distract herself; she had dug under her bed for the box of photographs that she had managed to save for all these years. A few rare pictures of her Mother and Father on their wedding day, a few of her old school photos, and some of Avalanche that she hadn't had room for in the picture frames. His presence was in every corner, a darkness made all the more obvious by the presence of so much light; Aries' easy smile, Tifa's doting affectionate glances directed at a certain cerulean-eyed swordsman, more often than not never returned.

She found it sadly amusing that someone like Vincent had somehow wormed his way into her heart, against his will of course. She had never thought she could want something so much. Perhaps that was what was wrong with her; it was all, or nothing. She couldn't give him something, without offering up everything else, too.

It was only a day later, when food was agreeing with her once more, that she realised she felt exactly as she had done on the day of Cloud's funeral. Empty, without purpose, lost… the list could go on, and on.

-0-

The phone was ringing. The shrill peal was enough to make her wince, shattering the silence of her house so rudely.

She managed somehow to make it downstairs to reach the phone. The old fashioned receiver was heavy and solid in her fragile fingers. "Hello?"

"Tifa! Where have you been?" Shera's frantic voice accosted her ear.

"My head's been stuck in the toilet bowl pretty much all week."

"…All week? Tifa…" The engineer's voice was suffused with dread, enough to set a cold chill in her own stomach.

"What is it?"

"Tifa, could you be… pregnant?"

She hadn't even considered the possibility that her sickness could be the by-product of something like _that, _and she was instantly bombarded by turbulent, intrusive notions. Could it be Vincent's? Was it too late to be his—could her one encounter with Gregg have been enough?

The dates became distorted in her head.

New Year was… three, four weeks ago? Greg was… no it couldn't be either, surely?

What would she do if it was?

She confronted herself with images of herself as a lonely mother, with a child who asked questions about a father that had never been there; A child with eyes unlike her own, who was tall for their age... A child with long hair the colour of a raven's wing.

"…Tifa…." The receiver dangling from the wall crackled her name, bringing her back to her senses. She fumbled for it with trembling hands and pressed it to her ear.

"Shera what am I going to do?"

"Well, first things first. Do a test. Don't panic Tifa. We can solve this. I will be there in an hour, don't move anywhere; I'll bring a test. You won't go through this alone, you hear me?"

Shera arrived promptly, true to her word, wearing a grave expression and carrying with her an ominous blue bag. Tifa found herself giggling in spite of it all; how ridiculous, a woman of her age getting herself into this situation.

A few minutes later found them both stood silently in the kitchen while Shera made some tea, simply for something to occupy her hands with. She knew neither of them would drink it. The plastic stick which held Tifa's life in the balance sat face down on the table. Tifa found herself casting wary glances in its direction, as though expecting it to explode.

Two minutes dragged; to Tifa it seemed as though there had never been a longer set of 120 seconds in her life. She turned the test over and, after taking in the formation of lines on the display, let barely held back tears fall onto her frigid cheeks.

-0-

**Honestly I had played around with taking out the whole Gregg-encounter, but I think the reason it works so well is that it I haven't chosen to paint Tifa as some squeaky-clean heroine, who is just love-sick. It's much more complicated than that.**

**I got stuck on this for that very reason, but I got past it! Enjoy.**


	19. Spiralling

**I wanted to either update Ivory Keys/ publish a one-shot themed for Halloween. I haven't done a seasonal post for a while! Look out for it this week! Please enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 18: Spiralling

Cid cursed under his breath as he entered the main gates of Kalm, tossing his cigarette butt on the ground and stepping on it with a dirty, travel worn boot. He exhaled his last mouthful of smoke into the cool, night air.

Tifa's old bar stood empty, no warm, welcoming glow shining out from the windows. But somehow, Cid felt that his search wouldn't be as fruitless as the last; He found the door open already, Just as he had anticipated.

How could this place have gotten so dirty so soon since Tifa have moved out? In the shaft of moonlight that penetrated the windows, he could make out footprints in the carpet of dust; fairly fresh ones at that. So Vincent _was_ here.

His boots thudded unnecessarily loud on the floorboards, no matter how lightly he tried to tread, the thick layer of dust serving him ill in muffling his passage.

"Shit…" He cursed under his breath, aware of movement on the floor above.

He dropped his failing attempts at stealth and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. In the dark of the hall, light leaked from a door that had been left ajar; the door to Tifa's room. Cid pushed the creaking wooden door wide to admit him, spotting Vincent immediately, stood with his back to the room, his outline illuminated in silver moonlight.

"The hell you doin' here, Vince?" Cid appraised the empty space around him, devoid of all personality, all traces of Tifa long gone. "Don't suppose you remember what I tol' ya in Rocket town, do ya?"

Vincent turned to face him, his brow furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry, but I gotta do this."

Cid drew back his arm, and planted a solid punch in the centre of Vincent's face, his knuckles making contact with a sickening crack. Cid rubbed the thumb of his other hand back and forth over his knuckles, watching Vincent carefully. He had not moved, or tried to defend himself. He was accepting Cid's treatment as his punishment. Blood was running from his nose freely, down onto his lip. Vincent wiped it away briskly, his eyes gleaming, no doubt from the pain.

"I needed some time to think," Vincent's voice was thick, edged with pain.

Cid grunted, unable to prevent sarcasm leaking into his voice. "The hell you run off for like that? Havin' an old man like me trekking' around after ya, like some goddamn kiddie's treasure hunt…"

"I did not intend for you to follow me, Cid." His tall form seemed to slump, crumbling under the metaphorical weight of all of his troubles. Cid scratched the back of his head and reached for the cigarette tucked behind his ear, pinching it between his lips and lighting up, flame illuminating his haggard face.

"Well, I did." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket, sucking on the cigarette, the acrid stench of tobacco assaulting Vincent's nostrils. "Listen Vince, everyone knows how you feel abou' Tifa… only an idiot would pass up a chance to be with a woman like her."

"I am a fool, no less."

"I told ya, not to break her heart, Vince… You force me to do things I really don't want to do sometimes. Jeez, we've all been worried sick about you both."

"She deserves someone better." Vincent turned to face the window again. Cid growled in frustration.

"Y'see, this is your problem; you always think that yer not good enough, but Tifa wants you, and no one god damn else. Hell, _I_ can't see why! But I know that y'love Tifa, and Vince, that should be enough, goddammit!"

"It is not as simple as that Cid…"

"Well, we got all the time in the world…" Cid sat down heavily on the bare mattress, the strings groaning a little as they accepted his weight. "I'm jus' strugglin' to understand you, Vince. I mean, do you really want to see her with someone else?"

The knuckles of Vincent's hand whitened as he clenched his fist. "_See_? I know it bothers ya. We all heard her, Vince—Its botherin' her too. She doesn't know why you left so suddenly, and she doesn't want anyone else."

His lips were a thin line now. "Evidence would suggest the contrary."

"Now don't be giving me that shit, Vince." Cid took the cigarette out of his mouth in anger, plumes of blue smoke seeping from his lips with each word. "You can't tell me you've lived a blameless, mistake free life. None of us have. I suggest you man the fuck up, and be honest, which ever route you decide. She. Needs. To know."

Vincent turned his back on Cid, eyes wildly taking in every detail as his mind processed Cid's advice.

Every room, even every object here seemed to hold a memory, so strong that it were as if Tifa herself would appear in the doorway, as though she had never really left at all. There was the window on the landing where she had kissed him; the spot where she had watched him walk away from her, when she had needed him the most. Then there was the living room where they had talked for many hours, where they had become comfortable with each other, at least, for a time.

The he passed into the bar, the place where it had all began. He recalled his sudden impulse to visit, when looking for a place to stay the night. Somehow, he had driven away her fears and become her crutch, her foundation, and he had somehow become irrevocably and irreversibly entwined in her life.

They had argued here, talked, kissed…

… He could still see the broken glass, the blood on her wrists; he could still feel his heart pulsing with surging hatred for a man who had broken something so beautiful, he wasn't so sure it would be the same again. Why should it have fallen to him to fix it all; that was, _if_ he was able to fix it.

How did he always manage to get himself into such tangled situations? First there had been Lucrecia and her pregnancy, and at first there had been doubt as to the legitimacy of Hojo's paternity claim. But He had known all along, of course. Lucrecia had been distant for weeks; kisses were cold, no longer warm enough to kindle their desire.

And now there was Tifa…

Would she be too angry to allow him to make amends for the damage he had caused? Did he have the strength to tell her the real reason for his ill-timed departure?

Then there was this Greg character; She was still young, he reminded himself, still had so much to live for. He couldn't blame her for turning to someone else, who seemed to offer her much of what she was missing from her life. He found that he was angrier than he cared to admit. Who was this man? Could he ever understand the complexity of one of Tifa's smiles? Would he ever be adept enough to read each of her expressions, her body language, the hidden tones in her words?

Yet in spite of the fact that he felt he knew her quite well, he still had to wonder; Why him?

Why did she love him?

He couldn't accept the validity of that night in Wutai; She was so vulnerable, yet so irresistible to him that night. Bringing his lips to her skin was to devour her completely. She was succulent and tantalising, a drug he could never shake his addiction to. For the first time in too-many-years, he had let his walls crumble away, exposing him to her completely. She had touched places he had forgotten felt so good to be touched. He had tasted her skin, her mouth…

He heard Cid close the door behind him, taking a breath of the clean, dust free air of the town. He heard the click of the pilots lighter, as no doubt, he was smoking again.

If he were to go back, he couldn't expect a warm reception. Would she be angry? Yes- no doubt about it. As to how she would vent that anger, however, he couldn't guess. She might chose to ignore him, she might shout at him, or even slap him—either way, he would deserve it.

But he had to try, at least, and put his restless mind to rest.

-0-

Her every fibre was shaken; reduced to trembling child, both relief and disappointment clashing within her. She longed for her mother's wisdom, her Father's protection, and Vincent's dark yet comforting presence presence. She sank down into the dining chair with a heavy sigh, staring at the floral pattern on her table cloth until it blurred before her eyes.

The test was Negative.

The relief overwhelmed the minor disappointment; she was not ready for children yet. She was not in the emotional position to be a mother, to have someone so dependent on her. She was finding it hard to depend on herself, as it stood now.

"Are you…"

"Happy? Yes. Relieved? Yes. Sad? Yes."

"You are sad?"

"If I was pregnant it would have been Vincent's." She gazed down at her flat stomach, as though something that should have been there was missing. "It's as if… there is no reason for him to come back."

"He has many reasons already for coming back. He just hasn't realised them yet." Shera placed her hands firmly on Tifa's shoulders. "You can't go on like this."

"I know."

"Vincent will come back if that is what he feels is right for you _both_. When _you_ and ready for him to come back- you won't realise you are ready- but he will come."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tifa massaged her temples, closing her eyes as she struggled with Shera's evasive statement. "Do you know something I don't?"

"No, Tifa. I saw you two together at Christmas, and being the observant scientist that I am, I observed," She gave a small laugh. "And I know Vincent would never jeopardise you, in any way, be it your happiness, you stability. He saw how happy you were when you came back from Wutai," Tifa turned to interrupt.

"I wasn't happy, I was falling in love with him, and I was torn in two, Shera, I-" Shera raised her hand to silence her, her clever eyes, concerned.

"He did not see it like that. He sees it that his being there, made you miserable. He thinks that you are at your happiest without him."

"But that's not true!"

"The truth comes in many forms, each as ugly as the last." Shera sighed wisely. "But it will come."

"He was so patient with me in Kalm…" Tifa reminisced. She recalled the tension filled silences, the strained conversations, the awkward touches. "After everything I said or did… he was always there…"

"Then you should do the same for him, Tifa."

-0-

That night her dreams were plagued by perplexing architectures; rooms that didn't end, staircases that lead to nowhere. In one room the floor was littered with broken glass, glinting in eerie blue light, wooden chairs and tables smashed into splintered chunks of wood.

She stepped over the devastation and walked into the centre of the room, realising that she was looking for something that was as of yet elusive to her.

But at the sound of a familiar voice, she turned her head. It was coming from the door she had entered from.

Then there was Vincent, as clear as day. In that tantalising moment, as she parted her lips to speak, she is aware of herself being dragged into consciousness. Then she awakens to find herself on her sofa. No Vincent, no bar, no Kalm.

Just herself, her house, and the darkness.

She frowned at her reflection as she brushed her teeth. The mint of her toothpaste was still resonant on her tongue as she sat down in the kitchen, the scent of Shera cooking breakfast awakening a sudden hunger in her she didn't know she had been harbouring.

Whilst chewing, she mused upon her night-time wanderings, with Shera chatting away to her across the table between mouthfuls.

Past or none, Vincent should never have run away. Past or none, she had no reason to feel guilty for sleeping with Greg. Only shame. Shame was different. She wished she hadn't been so weak. Then maybe things would have turned out another way. If only she had faced her daemons, instead of trying to run from them.

"You don't seem all here today." Shera's concerned tone distracted her from staring into her mug of coffee.

"I feel as though I haven't woken up yet, like I'm still trapped in my stupid perplexing dreams… She said, words falling out of her mouth, still in a dream-like state. "I never wanted it to be this way... I thought that in buying me a house… maybe he would have come with me. A new start, no bad memories… We could have been happy."

Shera touched her shoulder lightly, offering no verbal response this time. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, until little white stars danced in front of the blackness. "I don't know what it all means." She addressed the stars, aware of the room seeming to melt away in her created-dark.

Shera's presence moved away, and she was left alone in the kitchen for a few minutes. She took comfort from the stars, before returning to the real world, where everything was bright, and she couldn't hide.

She wished she had had the backbone not to go with Cloud in the first place. But no, she had needed him, convinced herself that he needed her, no matter what he did or didn't say, or do.

The pessimistic part of her wished Vincent had never come to her rescue; she would have simply withered away into nothingness, not knowing what she could have had.

It was too easy to want to take back the past, too easy to say that you wished it never happened. And in her doubt, in all her questioning, in her self-interrogation, she would never be able to let go; Of Cloud, of Vincent, even Greg. She was too weak to put things behind her.

It was her fate to live in a state of flux, never knowing the answers to her infinite _what if's, _and _if only's_. She was growing sick of listening to herself. Facing a new direction was a scary concept to her. New beginnings never boded well, and the unknown frightened her.

But one thing _was_ for certain; she would be beginning again, alone.

-0-

**I know this is a bit of a pessimistic chapter, but it needed to be out of the way. For those of you who have read this before, you might have noted that I opted for Vincent/Cid **_**not**_** to be aware of Tifa's pregnancy scare. In the end I didn't think I wanted it to be the reason Vincent would return to Tifa. I wanted him to reach a conclusion on his own. Tifa's scare is a battle of her own, independent of Vincent's struggles.**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please leave a review if you feel you have any thoughts you want to share.**

**Also, I wanted to either update Ivory Keys/ publish a one-shot themed for Halloween. I haven't done a seasonal post for a while! Look out for it this week!**

**Thanks to Cascade00, a new reader of mine. I hope you like the update!**


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